


Reconfiguration

by ethrosdemon, inkandchocolate



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-28
Updated: 2010-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethrosdemon/pseuds/ethrosdemon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandchocolate/pseuds/inkandchocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel makes a rash decision, Xander deals with the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This is the first part in what may be a zillion fics in answer to a challenge on YGTS? Part of the requirements are met here, some are still to come. The actual challenge will be posted at the end of the last part. For those of you who think we have been sucked into the black-hole which is Lindsey, he is nowhere to be found in this fic.

"Bill. Bill. Bill. And oh, look - change of pace, a late notice." Cordelia speaks loud enough to impress upon her companions that she is *not* talking to herself while Gunn and Angel do their usual grunt and ignore routine. She taps the stack of bills into a neat pile and pushes them to the side of the desk. Avoidance for the moment until she has some coffee and gathers the energy to harangue Angel into making the money appear ("Yes, Angel, I do believe there is a such thing as a money tree and you can shoot it out your ass"). Heads around the desk, watching the dim light catch the edge of Gunn's axe where he's polishing the blade humming to himself.

Flash, and she's on the floor, the pain of her body hitting the marble overwhelmed by the agony of the vision. A bad one, shades of black and red, washed in blood. All she sees are wounds gouged in flesh and rivers of blood with the accompanying soundtrack of the sounds of screaming. She thinks she's hearing herself, shouting out in the throes of the invasion. Shutter-quick image of a face, and she knows it's her screaming this time, because she recognizes the face despite the mask of bewilderment and pain, features long familiar and dear to her, even if she won't admit it today.

It's gone as quickly as it came, and all she sees are the closely crouching faces of Angel and Gunn, their brows wrinkled in concern as they help her up. Angel doesn't say anything as they get her seated on the couch, and his expression is severe, but Gunn has to ask.

"Who the hell is Xander?"

= = = = =

*ring ring*

*ring ring*

*ring ring*

"I don't understand where they all are!" Cordelia slams the phone down in frustration, winces as the noise reverberates in her throbbing head, makes her want to vomit again. "Not just Xander, but everyone. Maybe it already happened, maybe it's one of those ha-ha-look-what-you-missed-out-on visions." She takes a deep, shuddering breath, rubs her palms across eyes that are bare of makeup from her tears. "I hate this."

"We can leave as soon as Wesley gets back," Angel says, not looking up from his intense contemplation of the toes of his boots. She can't find fault with his seeming nonchalance; the weapons bag behind him on the couch bulges with everything he could fit into it, and Gunn has the rest in his own bag. "It's not helping anything for you to get yourself more upset. Just keep calling them every few minutes and try to get a grip."

The slam of the lobby door startles them all, and Wesley rushes in breathlessly. Eyes wide and clothes disheveled, he stumble-trips over the steps and gasps out, "Followed me, right behind," as Angel hauls him to his feet. Seconds later, there are four additions to the group in the form of Khurdnathi Assassins, who burst through the front doors, shattering glass and spraying wood shards in a ragged arc.

"Stealth ain't one of their strong points," Gunn says dryly as he hefts the axe over one shoulder and grasps a studded mace in the other hand.

"Eww, neither is bathing, judging by the smell!" Cordelia's gagging against the back of her hand. Clasped in the other one is the handle of a long curved blade. She looks at the hulking form of the demons, looks down to the knife, and shouts to Angel before tossing it his way.

With a bellow, the Khurdnathis swarm down the steps.

=====

Xander looks up at the hotel, hands in his pants pockets. He found it easily enough, big old falling down historical landmark, and could Angel change his tune with the old building thing already? Observes there's no front doors on the thing and wonders idly how long that's been going on, and if anyone has gotten the bejesus scared out of him by trying to come in and meeting up with Angel in full-on toothy mode. Didn't wanna be the one. But when it came down to the decision, he realized he could use a day away. Some time to himself on the drive down and back. Time for his own tears when he doesn't have to comfort anyone else or try to be a man. It could've been a phone call, but he thinks coming in person might bring Angel up for visitation at the funeral home.

His thoughts are interrupted by a clear, high scream that he knows far too well. Xander breaks from his reverie and runs towards the gaping hole that is now the entrance to the Hyperion. So much movement going on all at once, but his eyes seek Cordelia instinctively, take in the large demon with the larger weapon that's bearing down on her, and he just moves. Vaguely realizes that Angel and Wesley are there, and someone else that he doesn't know at all, but all he can think is to get Cordelia out of the way. Running tackle, and she goes down under him, and everything goes ... strange.

He identifies a burning sensation in his shoulder and neck, rush of heat and wetness, and he feels numb all over. Full body Novocain shot. Blinks stupidly at Cordelia for a second, and her mouth is open, but he can't hear her at all.

"Cordie?" So confused and he thinks //must have hit my head// before Cordelia and everything else fades to black.

=====

Angel hears the pitch of Cordelia's shriek rise an octave, and it gives him the impetus to reach the demon as it raises its weapon over her and prepares to strike another blow. Scent of blood //human, cordie, oh god// goes right through Angel's system, hits him like a dose of adrenaline, and he grasps the remaining Khurdnathi on either side of its head, twists violently, drops it as soon as the crack of its spine is heard.

Looks down in panic, knows he's going to see Cordelia lying there in a pool of her own blood, hopes he can get her patched up enough for Gunn and Wes to get her to the hospital //maybe it's just a flesh wound, maybe, but i can smell the blood//

Sees instead her with her hands clamped to Xander's neck, eyes wide and voice stuttering up and down the scale of fear, panic, desperation. The blood pouring out, and he sees with a thrill of absolute horror that there's a clear arterial spray mark on the floor , across Cordelia's face, over to the wall.

"Angel, oh God, please, please, help me, stop the bleeding, I can't make it stop! Someone make it stop, please, Xander, wake up, help me!" Frantic keening, and Cordelia's hand keeps slipping in the blood on his neck.

Angel drops to his knees, puts his hand over hers, and he can hear Xander's heartbeat as it slows, stutters, stops, beats again. "Xander, no, damn it!" Full game face from all of the blood, and the swell of utter horror won't listen to him as he tells it to go away, let him think, let him fix it.

Gunn is there standing over the trio on the floor, and he swears under his breath, "Fuck, man, the only thing gonna save that boy's goin' over to the no-sunshine crowd."

"Do it, Angel! Please, God, you have to do it!" Cordelia claws at him wildly, still pinned under the body //not the body, Xander, still Xander// and grabs at his hair to pull his face down. "Please, Angel, you can't let him die, you can't!" Sobbing now, and she's pressing his face into Xander's neck. The blood coating him, screaming at him in cadence to Cordelia's mindless insistence.

Heartbeat stuttering out again, Cordelia just wails his name, prayer and supplication, and Angel is lost. Opens his mouth and drinks in the blood, pulls Cordelia's hand away and gulps as a final gush of warmth floods his mouth. Teeth in the wound, not necessary but still, in some way it is absolutely vital that he bite and suck and not merely lap up what the Khurdnathi's blade has freed for him. Tastes Xander in every swallow, *feels* him, learns him intimately in a way that is not possible except by the feeding.

Tears himself away before its too much, too far, which isn't more than a mouthful or two, and bites his own wrist, fangs ripping out a chunk of his flesh in his savage haste. Rolls Xander over into his lap and presses the wound to his mouth. Nothing, nothing at all, the blood is flowing into Xander's mouth, but he's not swallowing. It trickles out the side, moves over the paths of his own blood that already coat his face.

Roar of frustration, grinding his wrist down harder, and Angel slaps Xander's cheek with his other hand. "Drink, drink, Xander, do it," chanting as he begins to think it's too late, they were too late, and now he's holding a body for real this time.

The slightest movement beneath the bleeding gash, and Xander's throat works as he swallows. Parts his lips and beings to drink weakly.

=====

Xander wakes suddenly. Sucks lungful after lungful of air into his lungs, and instead of the steadying sensation he's going for, it just feels wrong, off. A crash of otherness hits him, and he lays still again with his eyes clamped shut and tries to find his bearings. He feels like he's ascending through fathoms and fathoms of water, no ground to be found, and he can't tell which way is up. Beneath him he can feel his body indenting a mattress, cold metal against his wrists and ankles, but none of those sensations are the ones in the fore of his mind. Blood, the smell of it soaking into every pore of his being. His own, that he knows on instinct. Under it though, he can scent the blood of another, the heartbeat carrying it through wide arteries, tiny capillaries humming in his ears. Hunger smothers him, tightening his body into one-strung out NEED to eat. And the smell from across the room is familiar in an odd way, he can name it instantly, Cordelia. Her breathing ragged, the odor of what he assumes is fear and desperation sweet to him, and he's starting to wig himself out. Can't place why the hunger and the blood are connected, unless this is another nightmare, a revisitation of so many before. The only reason he can come to why his own blood isn't thrumming in his ears, why he can't feel the pulse in his wounds which he can remember receiving. Stabs wound, or claws sharp as blades. Before he could tell them. Before he had time for anything else but gut reaction. Opens his eyes. Cordelia sitting in a wooden chair across the room staring at her fingernails, tears tracking down her face through well defined salt trails.

"Cordelia?" His voice sounds odd to his ears, like he hasn't used it in a long time, rusty and out of shape somehow.

"Oh god, Xander! I'm so sorry." Fresh burst of tears, he can see her shaking and wonders vaguely why she hasn't gotten up to come over to him.

"For what?" Confusion is plain in his voice, and he tries to sit up. Can't, hindered by the shackles and the burning dizziness inside his head and his belly.

"We called them, just hang on, we're gonna make this ok. Don't hate me, please, just..." Begging look in her eyes, and her scent is so strong, there's so many layers to it that Xander thinks he could take all night to name every one of them.

"Why am I chained up?" Rattles his wrists to illustrate the point.

Roll of her eyes and there's the old Cordelia he knows so well. "Well, duh, so you won't kill us all."

"Excuse me if I'm not following here, but I'm still confused by the chained up part." Confused and hungry, the burning spreading to the rest of his body, climbing over nerve endings, and he's starting to feel the desire to growl. He considers that reaction for a moment; decides that yes he does want to growl, and that he's not entirely sure why it's such a completely *right* thing.

"We had to, I, we, couldn't think of anything else to do, and it took us forever to get a hold of Willow." She's actually wringing her hands; he's heard the term but never saw it happen before.

"What? What does Wills..." Stops himself, grimaces as his body begins to complain. Makes a move to rub his stomach where it aches and gets brought up short. "Back to the chains, or we could move on to the part where I am starving to death."

"Thus the chains."

"Am I on a crash diet I didn't know about?" It begins to occur to him that he might have hit his head a lot harder than he actually remembers. //how long was i out?//

"Yeah, the non-human diet plan." She leans back in her seat when she says it, increasing the already ridiculously large amount of space between them.

A tingle of irritation begins to spread, and Xander finds the urge to growl again disconcertingly urgent. "Um, ok, could you unchain me so I can eat? And also, what's with the blood, and the not being in a hospital?"

Panicked look as soon as he says the word 'eat', and she's out of the chair and behind it in a flash. "Angel!" Eyes huge and vaguely glassy as she stares at him and screeches towards the open door.

"I'm right here, Cordelia." That voice resonates through Xander and his eyes roll back and forth to locate the owner.

Angel's form fills the doorway from the sitting room to the bedroom of his suite. Rapid rising. He knew it would be fast, but six hours is something he hasn't seen for a longer than he can remember. Glass of blood in his hand for his own feeding, he takes in Xander's strung-out appearance. Still breathing, eyes stunned to no blinking from what he must feel at being this close to his maker, Angel can remember the feeling after all this time. He walks to the side of the bed and looks down at the creature no longer a boy, that past and the new life taken up residence. Human features receding at the proximity of the glass of blood in his sire's hand, bewildered expression still evident through the ridges and extended canines.

"Oh my god! Oh my god!" Cordelia voice shrill again, but Xander's attention never wavers from Angel and the blood.

"Drink this." Angel cups the back of Xander's head to bring his face up to the glass in his hand. Xander brings his mouth up to the rim, and Angel looks toward Cordelia to see her riveted on the scene, whips his head back when he feels teeth puncturing his wrist, lips and tongue coaxing the blood from his vein.

"Angel!" Wesley in the doorway, two or three figures at his heels. Angel recognizes two of the scents, Xander all three. He disengages his arm from Xander's mouth.

"Sorry, the stuff in the glass smelled off, and you weren't looking." Doesn't know why he feels the need to apologize for something that was so natural to him as to be instinctive, but the vague sense of something wrong in the act is present in the way Angel's scent had taken on a tang.

"Xander! Oh no, I can't believe this." Willow forcing past Wesley and Giles, throwing herself on the bed, chains rattling, pillows flying. Angel observes the blond girl who follows her closely, eyes averted, hands working nervously in front of her.

"Willow, what the hell is wrong with you? Get back from the fangs!" Cordelia grips the back of the chair and watches in confusion and fear as Willow wraps her body around Xander's, arms clutching and legs twining in his, her face in the blood-stiffened shirt he still wears.

Giles and Wesley whisper between themselves, heads bowed, frowns deepening as they converse. All Angel feels is hollow, knowing the whispers from the two men don't include him, knowing that Cordelia is torn between regret at his actions and relief that Xander isn't in the City Morgue right now.

"I'm so sorry, Xander." Willow cries into the shirt, tears wetting the fabric, loosening the blood and smearing her cheek with it.

"It's been a long time since I had one of these dreams." Xander wants to comfort her somehow, lifts his head to look at her instead, catch her eye. She sniffles and looks up, and he forces himself to not stare at the bloody marks on her face. Wonders if he would be able to look away if it wasn't his own blood he was smelling.

"What do you mean dreams?" She's still wrapped around him like a little monkey on a stick, tears slipping from her eyes, and there's something so hurt in her eyes that he feels a flutter of panic, pushes it down.

"The dreams where I'm a vamp. It used to happen all the time before we defeated the Master, remember?" Smiles at her to reassure her, and Willow makes a concerted effort not to recoil from the way his face shimmers in and out of the demon's mask.

"Yes, I remember, I think all of us had dreams like that." Nods her head, and despite the way her heart is kicking up a little, she stays where she is because this is Xander. Xander who she has seen or talked to every day since they could talk, since they were babies sharing drooley, mushy cheerios. She remembers the picture of them doing just that, chubby baby fists clenched around the little circles, arms extended towards each other, and a sob crawls into her throat and chokes her.

"Not even! I never did" Cordelia still stands behind the chair, and her fingers clench and unclench on the back of it.

"Well the ones of us who thought about more than hairspray." Five minutes together, and they've all fallen into old roles, Cordelia sniping and Willow whispering her own come-backs in a voice meant only for Xander to hear. The familiarity of it would be so comforting if the reason for the togetherness wasn't lying on the bed with cold skin and no heartbeat.

"I heard that."

Xander asks Willow earnestly, "It all seems so real though, Wills, do you think I'm in a coma? Make sure they don't pull the plug on me, maybe I'll wake up like Faith."

"Xander, you're not in a coma, and this isn't a dream." Tiny hands on his face and she's so warm. He can hear her heart thumping and smell what he pins as sorrow.

"Dream Willow always says that."

"It's true this time." Head down on his chest again, and she listens to the silence there.

Wesley and Giles are setting up a small table in the corner by Cordelia. Giles opens his satchel, draws out several tied bundles of herbs, a large, leather-bound book whose odor is so clearly magic that Xander can smell it from over on the bed.

Angel watches Xander and Willow on the bed, listens to both sides of the conversation and the demon is whispering to him to throw the girl off the bed, kick the rest of the humans out of the room and claim his newest childe in the age-old manner. His mind flickers around the varieties of self-loathing he's come to know so well plus the added catch twenty-two Xander's death has wrought. Moments of passion rarely bring clarity, and he thinks death might have been the better route for this boy, but Cordelia's pleading couldn't be denied, and in the instant his decision was made, it felt right, felt somehow the only way.

He drags his eyes from the bed when the demon becomes more insistent, watches Gunn stroking Cordelia's back, urging her to come to the other room to sit down, have some coffee. Sees her resist and push him off. Rustle of movement, and his eyes are drawn back to Xander and the woman spreading her scent all over his newest possession.

Xander inhales deeply. "God Wills, you smell so good, like sage and Tara. Were you two doing spells before you popped into my dream world?"

Tara laughs, a quiet little chuckle and Willow smiles, lifting her head from his chest. "Xander. You never change...wait, I mean...uh, you really changed, but then you didn't and don't be mad and try to bite me." She blushes a little, and the extra blood in her cheeks is suddenly the most beautiful thing Xander has ever seen. Too beautiful, and he licks his lips and swallows roughly.

"I'll bite you alright, is it time for the orgy to commence?" Aims for joking and misses, his voice is too low, and there was so much feeling in those first few words.

"What?" Everyone turns to look at him, and Wesley looks as if he might spontaneously combust on the spot. He's holding a small crystal orb and when he turns to gape at Xander it wobbles in his hands. Giles grabs it from him with a terse, "Give me the bloody thing, we can't just pop down to the corner and pick up another one."

"I already did the blood drinking, now it's time for the vampy sex, that's how this always goes. Willow's here after all, but she's still human, that's weird, kind of like the Angel part. I don't think it was ever Angel who turned me before." All eyes swivel to Angel, and he looks back helplessly at them.

Giles clears his throat. "Actually it's time for the ritual to restore your soul." Turns and places the orb in a small black bowl on the table and begins to light the candles. Wesley hands Tara a lightly smoldering bundle of sage, and they begin to walk around the room. The smoke fills the air.

Xander watches the process and turns his head back to Willow. "This is a new wrinkle. You sure we can't do the orgy thing instead?"

She kisses her fingertips, presses them to his forehead and slips off the bed. Walks over to the table where Giles waits with the book, and takes the Orb of Thesulah into her hands. It glows briefly at the contact and she takes a steadying breath. Looks to Giles.

"Ready?" When he nods she closes her eyes and begins the incantation, holds the Orb cupped in her palms, arms extended towards Xander. Angel stands in the shadows of the corner, he eyes unblinking and taking in every detail. The gray smoke hangs in the air, the Orb pulses gently in Willow's hands, and Xander is watching her intently. His eyes are black in the darkened room.

"What is lost, return. Not dead, nor not of the living. Spirits of the interregnum, I call." Her voice is calm and relaxed as she recites the words she has memorized on the ride here tonight. They are clearly imprinted on the inside of eyelids, bright against the darkness.

"I implore you, Lord, do not ignore this request. Neither dead, nor of the living. Let this Orb be the vessel that will carry his soul to him." She opens her eyes, meets Xander's gaze and says in a strong, loud voice, "So it shall be! So it shall be! Now!"

The Orb's light flares, spikes to a brilliant orange-white glow that makes everyone but Angel and Xander close their eyes and then blinks out abruptly. Willow peeks out cautiously, sees the dull cloudy glass and risks a small smile. "It worked....I think."

"No." Angel's voice is very loud in the stillness. "It didn't."

"But, but it glowed, and I *felt* it, I know I had the spell right. Giles," Willow turned to him imploringly. "Didn't I have the spell right?"

"Yes, perfect, just as it is in the original Romany text." He looks at Angel over the top of his glasses. "Why do you say it didn't work?"

"I was watching him, the soul never entered his body." He rubs a hand across his face, looks up at Giles again because he cannot meet Willow's eyes. "I don't know why, but it didn't work."

"Maybe he never lost his soul." Tara pushes hair from in front of her face and looks anywhere but at anyone's eyes.

"Why do you think that, honey?" Willow sets the orb back in its holder and leans over Xander as though she'll be able to see the lack or presence of his soul.

"Am I gonna eat any time soon?" Fire in his belly, and whatever it is that he's holding onto that keeps him from becoming something else is getting restless.

"Well, I for one, have never heard of such" Wesley sputters, his voice over-ridden by Giles, who's looking into the book as he says, "That would be unprecedented to be sure?"

"I thought it might be the case to begin with." Angel walks forward, towards the bed, Xander's head swiveling to follow him. "I thought about it when Darla asked me to turn her. Have either one of your ever known of another souled vampire?"

"There have been legends." Wes says thoughtfully, takes off his glasses and nibbles on the earpiece. "The Sentinal Codex, I believe."

"Quite spurious legends." Giles says with irritation. "And it was never the Sentinal Codex. The Gorgiene, perhaps."

Angel cuts off the beginnings of the argument, continues stepping to the side of the bed now that Willow has moved away to stand by Tara. "He woke too fast, he held his human features, only slipping to feed and right back again. I had to know it wasn't just because of the bloodline. All the vampires in the line of Aurelius are, well, strange. I thought it might have been that." Looks down at Xander, smells the hunger in him as it plucks the strings of the rights of a sire.

"You knew he might have his soul and you didn't say anything?" Cordelia steps up to Angel, the first move she's made towards the bed since Xander regained consciousness. Her eyebrows are drawn together in an angry wrinkle and she points at him, thin finger and sharp nail in his chest.

"I had to know for sure!" Wants them all to leave, leave right now, siren song of ritual and legend thick in the air for him. For Xander as well, but he won't recognize it right away, he'll merely feel the hunger and not realize that it's for more than just blood.

"I don't mean to sound like I'm quoting Little Shop of Horrors but feed me damn it!" Tension in the voice this time, and Angel puts a hand on Xander's shoulder for a moment to quiet him.

"Angel, unshackled him." Willow, her voice calm, her hand is twined in Tara's as they both come to join him at the bedside.

"Here." Angel hands her the keys, and she turns to fit them in the lock. Awkward movements and she leans across him to open first one ankle cuff and then the other.

"This is real, isn't it?" Xander's voice is quiet as she undoes the restraints on his wrists and sits up at last.

"Yes, you'll believe me next time, huh?" Small grin and she hugs him again, her hair in his face. Assault on his sense, sage and Willow, Tara and feline and under that all the smell of her blood. He releases her as quickly as he can without making it obvious.

"Where's Anya?" Xander asks, swinging his legs off the bed. He notes the awkward glances among the Sunnydale contingent and waits for an answer.

"Um, well, she's at home." Willow's mouth quirks into what Xander recognizes as her nervous smile, the one she hopes will make the other person forget to be upset.

"Minding the shop, counting the money." Giles sounds a little too cheery as well, and it's never good when that happens.

"Why isn't she here?" Stands up, wavers on his feet a minute and sits back down.

"Because we didn't tell her what happened." Tara's eyes are wide and honest as she tugs Willow's hand and pulls her closer. Xander isn't smelling fear on her, not mortal-danger fear, but everyone in the room has a high bitter edge in their personal aroma. Everyone except for Angel.

"And we didn't tell Dawn or Buffy either." Giles takes off his glasses and begins to polish them with a white cloth that had covered the orb earlier.

"I can see why on that one. Why not Anya?" Xander's eyes flicker from Giles to Willow and finally rest on Tara. She ducks her chin and refuses to look back.

"Why wouldn't you tell Buffy or Dawn?" Cordelia cuts in, her voice carrying that faint edge of annoyance at feeling left out of the loop in any given situation.

"Cordelia, now is not the time." Wesley turns to her, exasperated, but she stops him with a glare.

"Wes, keep your trap shut. What the hell else is happening?"

"Joyce is dead. That's why I came here." Xander sees the shock hit Cordelia, and her mouth snaps shut. She looks down for a minute, then over at Angel.

"How?" Angel, back to being laconic guy again, Xander notes.

"Aneurysm." Willow tells them and Angel looks both saddened and relieved. No demon, no danger to take him back to Sunnydale.

"Ok, we can't deal with both these things right now. First we have to decide what to do with Xander being dead." Cordelia's back in top form, prioritizing as only she can.

"Indeed." Wes reluctantly agrees with her, which earns him a raised eyebrow before she turns back to Angel.

"Tactless, but true." Giles replaces his glasses, drops the cloth on the table and slides his hands in his pockets.

"What do you want to do, Xander?" Tara's voice is soft and she's looking out from the curtain of her hair at him.

Xander considers for a minute, then says, "I never thought I would say this, but it is over my dead body. I think I want to stick close to Angel. Also, I want to EAT."

"Right, I will get on that this instant." Wesley turns to get the blood but Gunn, silent all this time, stops him.

"I'll get it, y'all got to get your shit together." Walks out the door, heads to the kitchen, no small amount of concern over the events of the day weighing on him.

Back in the room, Angel pulls Xander to his feet. Looks at him closely and says, "Xander, you are welcome to stay with me. There will be rules, but I think you're better off here than going back home right now."

"Rules? I have to wear hair gel? The leather, ok, we can talk about that, but the gel I'm a firm no on." Deadpan face, and Angel considers that he might be entirely serious about it. This is going to be a whole new world for them both.

"Xander, we didn't tell anyone where were going in case something happened, but I can stay if you want." Willow steps up close, takes his hand in hers. Squeezes tight, and Xander pulls her in, kisses the top of her head.

"No Wills, you have to go home and make up an alibi for me. Will you do that? I mean, I know you hate to lie, but I..."

"You needn't worry, Xander. You can explain in your own time. Lord knows this isn't the only lie amongst us." Giles voice is tired, ragged on the edges from stress and lack of sleep.

"What about An? I don't think she's going to sit there all quiet when I don't come back tomorrow."

Tara tugs Willow's sweater at the hem. "A forgetfulness spell?" Tentative suggestion, as if she's afraid someone will turn and berate her for it. Her confidence fades in and out so quickly, even after all this time.

Willow smiles at her, turns back to Xander. "We will think of something and call and tell you."

"Soooooooo, we have a new employee then. God, I'm never gonna get that Armani shirt." Cordelia voice is full of annoyance, and she's rolling her eyes, but Angel sees the tremor in her hands before she crosses them in front of her to still the shaking.

"Can I take a shower? I seem to be covered in blood." Xander plucks at the shirt with both hands, looks to Angel.

"See us out first? And then shower time!" Willow's back in his arms for another hug, Tara waves shyly and mouths "good luck." Giles shakes hands with Angel and Wesley, and Gunn when he returns with the blood in a cup. Wesley thinks the timing of the return is too perfect to be coincidence, that perhaps Gunn was waiting until the sounds of the strangers making ready to leave could be heard before coming back into the crowd. Xander and Angel hang behind the group, Angel's eyes intense on him as he takes the cup and gulps the blood, face morphing effortlessly in and out of human form. It's gone in a few swallows, and he indicates that Xander should follow him to the lobby again.

Cluster of forms at the plywood that now covers the space where the missing doors would be, and Xander watches the remains of his life drive away.

=end=


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel considers the aftermath, Xander makes adjustments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Continuation of the answer to the YGTS? Challenge. Yes, more of the requirements are finally addressed. No, we're not even close to done.  
> Notes II: // - // denotes memory

Xander lays prone on his new bed. The sheets are Angel's, Cordelia told him. Not the ratty, threadbare sheets left over in the hotel from it's previous incarnation. Angel's boxers also shift and bunch around his legs are he moves. Somewhat too big, but they don't fall off him. After consuming half of Angel's personal blood supply, he let Cordelia prattle at him and apologize endlessly before fatigue overcame her, and she let Gunn drive her home. His new acquaintance was quiet, Xander understood this to be abnormal by the way Angel and Cordelia kept shooting him looks over the course of the night. He did hear Gunn murmur to Angel "He's not gonna go evil if he gets some, right?" Didn't hear Angel's reply. Xander hopes to hell not, since he almost jumped Willow in front of the whole crowd earlier, and he doesn't think he'll be holding out much longer on the impulse. Wesley left quite a while before the other two, after several cups of tea and attempts to get Cordelia to leave him alone, his shoulders sagging and glasses almost rubbed away on the edge of his shirt.

Alone isn't what he wants to be right now. The dawn's rapidly approaching, Xander can feel it in the slight tingle in his toes and fingers, like flesh renewed with fresh blood after falling asleep. Not time enough for his new existence to sink in, his senses on overdrive, every current of air wafting old scents imbued with subtleties he never experienced previously. No need for lights as Angel and he made their ways to their bedrooms. His vision in the dark perhaps better even than in the light. His hearing far too keen for his liking, whispers between others echoing in his ears, the rumble of the cars passing on the street outside the hotel startling him with their rattling and radios blaring.

All of his newfound senses are overpowered, however, by the craving he has to be near Angel. It was there when the humans were on the premises, but he could smother it with focusing on the line of Cordelia's neck, the tea smell rolling off of Wesley, the nap on Gunn's face from his beard. Concentrate on the feel of the ingested blood flowing out from his stomach to the furthest reaches of his body. At this hour, in his bed, all Xander can think of is Angel. The need not suppressed by his revulsion at it. His natural feelings about Angel careening through his mind, distaste, disdain, anger, jealousy. Part of him squeals to not even think about that any longer, to erase it from his memory. He's been of two minds about situations before, but this is something else. Something new and confusing. Finally, he gives up resisting, and slides out of bed, pads down the hallway and stands in the doorway to Angel's room. The thrill increasing as Angel's scent grows stronger.

Angel knew he would come. Freshly made and unable to control an impulse he doesn't even comprehend, Angel lays awake waiting for the figure to appear. Bides his time thinking about Darla. Of missed opportunities and a chance he didn't even allow himself to wish for. Considered it in another moment of blind panic, but let it skitter away when she spoke to him of redemption. Yet another reason to hate himself, and all the lives she's taken since that night even heavier on his chest now that he knows it could have been another way. If only he would have given in the first night. If only he had thought it through. If only he hadn't loved her so much. So many more, the litany he repeats each night before he falls to exhaustion.

Xander's voice interrupts his stream, and his childe's desperation fills his nose and mouth when he sucks in air to scent for emotion. "Angel?"

"It's ok Xander, I'm awake." Sits up against the headboard as Xander walks further in to the suite. Barely a sound, economy of motion somehow innate now.

"I have this freaky urge to be near you. Am I weirding you out?" Stands at the open doors of the bedroom and tugs his underwear up a little higher on his hips.

"It's not freaky at all, it's subconscious, you can't help yourself." Angel isn't sure about the boy. Of how in control his demon side is, which yearnings he has, if they're for pleasure, blood, or his human desire for comfort and reassurance. He's also not positive if he can give any of it, if he's whole enough after the last few weeks to have anything left to spare of himself.

"Could I sleep on your couch? I never snored, or no one ever complained about it, but I doubt it will matter now." Gestures at the couch in the room behind him and attempts a weak smile.

Angel pulls back the coverlet next to him. "You can sleep here Xander. You don't have to feel ashamed. I understand what you're feeling." Xander gawks at him for a second, then makes his way to the open side of the bed.

"You sure?" Stands there watching Angel's eyes in the almost pitch blackness of the room, demon visage in place unknowingly for better observation.

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't." Pats the mattress, Xander's face slips back to human, and he slides into the bed, pulls the covers over him. Xander rests his head on the pillow for a moment, stares at the ceiling. His muscles relax, and he lets the new sensations darting through his body settle themselves down into a pattern of sorts, one that is exceedingly easier to cope with now that he is so close to Angel. Trips over the fact that he dead now, dead and aware of it. Wants to tell Anya he's seen the otherside now, but doubts this is what she had in mind. Angel shifts next to him, and his thoughts of self drift away, swamped by the hunger for *something * in Angel. Here in the bed, he's close but not close enough.

Angel hears his whistling sigh, keeps his eyes closed as Xander asks, "Is it weird that I feel the overwhelming urge to snuggle with you?"

Props his head up in his hand, elbow creasing the pillow beneath him, looking at Xander in the dim room when he rolls his head. "Nothing you're feeling is weird. You have to adjust. It will take time."

Xander's eyes drop closed for a moment, then he looks up and turns to his side away from Angel, movements careful as if any second he'll be told to stop, or that he was misinterpreting the signs. Is spared the awkwardness when Angel's arm comes around him, chest to his back, and Xander relaxes into the embrace. His skin thrums all along his body, every place that Angel presses against him, all the tiny hairs prickling as if from a static charge.

He holds himself very still and considers for a few minutes before saying, "I thought when I came in here, I just needed to be near you. Then, when I got in the bed I realized I needed more than that, for you to touch me. You might not be wigged, but I am." Wigged, but not going anywhere. The ache he assumed to be unmet hunger subsides to a degree, but new levels of need are making themselves known.

"I'm not wigged because I felt it myself, under extremely different circumstances, but the wanting, the needing was the same." Angel's voice is low and deep, face very close to the nape of Xander's neck.

"So, now that you're cuddling me, that still doesn't seem to be quieting the voice in the back of my mind. The horny as hell part shouldn't be bothering me?" One last quest for reassurance, and he wonders if this is all part of the delirium of being turned. Wonders if the way he feels drawn to Angel's physical presence, to his touch, will somehow lessen once he adjusts.

"Your orgy dreams weren't far off the mark, boy."

Something different in the tone, and it could have been a smile. Could have been, but it isn't, and Xander turns in the circle of Angel's arms. Feels Angel's hand widen across his back pushing him in closer, and he presses his face against the broad chest. Xander's hand moves tentatively, some small and far away voice telling him that this isn't something he wants to do, reminding him one last time before the new presence in his body gets a foothold and takes command. Whispers into his subconscious, paints word pictures of how it should be for creatures like him and the role he was created to assume.

Current of air in the room as Angel pushes the blankets away, and it carries the scent of something unnamable and intoxicating. Angel can detect every subtle shift and drift of desire and distress, allows himself the luxury of remembering the rights of a sire. Taking without thought for anything other than his own pleasure, his own unchallenged ability to show dominance and power over a childe, things long past but never forgotten, in the marrow of his bones and memory of his cells. He can still recall the exact flavor of Druscilla, how her blood was sweet and rich, communion wine; Penn and his bitter herbal tang of anger and resentment that ran so deep as to stain everything about him. And now this fresh possession, his raw creation, so brand new that he hasn't even named the taste of him yet. He feels torn, still torn, even with Xander coming to his bed of his own volition, all but begging to be shown the way. Knows he could explain, just elucidate and present, no reason to take his pleasure here, indulge himself in what he wants to deny he even is. Remembers the raw hunger for contact and can't steal the sating of it from Xander because of his guilt at his own weakness for being here to begin with, here in the arms of yet another abomination he's wrought. One that feels almost perfect against his flesh, blood singing to blood, demons seeking likeness. Wrong, but real and true, and maybe just this once, one more indulgence, and then he'll let go of this childe too.

Rough hands strip Xander's body of the boxers, and he lies still, trembling with some undercurrent of expectation. Heavy weight covering him, Angel's hipbone digging into the dip of flesh, face coming up to brush against his, and Xander can't believe how the simple motion of cheek to cheek friction has made him achingly hard. Wide hand training down the side of his ribcage, grasping lightly at the waist as Angel nuzzles the still rope marked by his teeth, licks, tastes, lets his open mouth trail down to the curve of shoulder.

Push and thrust of his hips, Xander's rocking up off the bed. Every inch of his skin alarmingly sensitive, like he was wrapped in cotton batting his whole life until now, these feelings are new and urgent. Glide of Angel's cock on his own, low rumbling growl in Angel's chest and Xander finds an amazing rhythm quickly. Turns his head, arms coming up to slip into short dark hair, but Angel ducks his head and instead slips further down Xander's body. Lets the mouth Xander was seeking find a pale nipple, teasing it into a hard nub. Angel's knee parts Xander's legs, his cock brushes the skin of his inner thigh. He feels the cool moisture of precome high on his belly where the boy's dick rubs between them with every rolling twist of his hips.

Sigh, grunt of effort, and Xander wriggles himself down Angel's torso, hand slipping between them to fist his cock, flick of his thumb around the crease of tightly drawn foreskin. Steady, sure grip slicked with his own fluid, Angel groans and bucks into it, collapses onto Xander's body. Pins the hand between them and lets his hips writhe and thrust. Heavy vibration carrying from his chest to Xander's when the pale neck is turned and bared. Shimmer of the change, and he waits for the fast approaching swell to hit him before he buries needle sharp pain in the willingly offered flesh. Gush of borrowed blood tasting so familiar //DarlaDruscillaPennSpike// in his mouth, as heady as the climax that takes him when the white flesh gives way to the slicing canines. Gasp and answering growl from Xander who comes too, shuddering and pressing his other hand to the back of Angel's neck, urging him to a harder bite, a deeper penetration.

An endless moment unrolls, the only sounds in the suite the muffled tick of the clock on table by the door and the rasp of Angel's tongue over the healing puncture wounds on Xander's neck. Urgency gone, need momentarily diminished, and it's easy for them both to slip apart, rejoin the former positions spooned together. Angel's arm lies heavily on Xander's shoulder and his face in his hair. He smells the rich mix of blood and semen that blankets the room, is comforted by the nostalgia of the scent.

Thinking aloud, something he's gotten in the habit of doing just to hear his own voice, break the unending silence. "I've been off the market too long."

"What?" Blurry voice, Xander exhausted from the sex and the lethargy that daylight forces on his body.

Smile into the dark curls and Angel begins to drift. Body in his bed with him, skin to skin after how many years of relentless solitude? Three encounters in a hundred years, one of which is lost to everything other than his own memory. "The curse. Nothing, it's just that kids have a lot more sexual experience these days than they did when I was your age."

"Why would you say that?" Not so much sleep in his voice, but he's newly turned and there's only so much resistance in him.

"Well, Xander, either you're a natural, or that wasn't your first time with another man." Feels him tense in the cradle of arms and legs and takes note.

Xander's eyes squeeze shut, remembering. //Bone weary after yet another fruitless research session on the heels of working 3-11 at the Jack-In-the-Box. Too tired to turn the overhead light on, just flicking the switch on the bedside lamp.

"Could we forgo the bondage session tonight, Xapper? I'll play nice, and I sleep better without rope burn." Don't even turn around, he'll shut up.

"Whatever, but don't tell Giles or Buffy and stop calling me that, it isn't funny anymore, Spork. " Shirt in jeans on a heap on top of my sneakers, it's not Serta, but the bed feels damned good right now. Almost too much effort to flick the light off.juuuuuuustttt a little.there. Blackness and sleep.

"What the fuck?" Someone in the bed with me, way too big to be Anya. Arm around my waist too heavy, legs too long.

"Spike? What the hell are you doing?" Shift, and yes, that is his entire body pressed against my side.

"That flimsy blanket wasn't keeping me warm, I thought you wouldn't mind, being asleep and all." Brush of the back of his fingers against my bicep, stroking over the artery.

"I mind, get the hell back into the chair." He's breathing, can tell by the soft fluttering of hair on the side of my neck and the rise and fall of his chest against my side.

"Why don't you throw me out of your bed if you want me out?" His other arm snaking under my pillow beneath my head, impossibly closer, his leg, naked leg, very not clad in jeans leg, pushing over mine.

"I'm too tired for this shit Spike." I should kick him out, he's right. If he'll just lay still, I can go back to sleep and deal with this tomorrow.

"I'm the dead one, pet, and I have the energy." Tongue and lips tracing the gooseflesh his breath has raised on the skin by his mouth, tightening of his arm over me. And if this was Cordelia, this would be prime fantasy number one. My body still seems to think it is.

"I can see you, you know that, don't you? I can see the decision playing over your face, the thoughts warring 'Should I kick him out?' 'Should I let him continue and pretend it never happened?'" Fingers on my face, turning my face to meet his. Pointed tip of his tongue tickling the indentation beneath my bottom lip. "It's our secret. How dirty it is is up to you." Thrust of his hips, and I can't keep my lips locked together, and he takes it as his invitation. Maybe it was one.//

Opens his eyes again, stares unseeing at the far wall where a thin line of light seeps in past dark shades and heavy curtains. "Does the sire thing mean I have to disclose my life story?"

"You feel our intimacy level isn't high enough to discuss previous sexual partners, or is there a reason you don't want to tell me?"

"You could say there's a reason."

Familiar itch of annoyance at the word games, but Angel tempers it. He realizes the events of the last day were traumatic, that there must be oceans of shock for Xander to deal with as he grasps his altered being and adjusts. Perhaps, it's simply the solitude save for the humans he's alienated from his life, used to getting his way through sheer lack of resistance or the ability to override any that fleetingly manifests. He reminds himself to be patient. "Xander, I could make you tell me. I'm not going to do that though, I want you to trust me. Anything you have to say, I've heard it all before, done it before."

"You're more right than you know." And there's a grimace in that remark that sets warning bells clanging.

"I know this person, right?" Realizes he is tensing his arm around Xander's chest, that the comfortable pose has taken on the form of a restraint.

"Uh, know him? It was.. SPIKE, IT WAS SPIKE OK?????"

Angel flinches from the sudden burst of noise, and when he processes the information he's whipped with a crackling flame of possessiveness. Snarls, "Did he bite you?" as he presses Xander's head forward toward his chest, glaring at the reddened flesh in a pale, unmarked plane, seeking evidence of another's statement on something that is *his.*

"No, no biting. He had the chip. Calm down." Tries to push back against Angel's hand, is unsuccessful until the pressure is removed, and this only after Angel's satisfied no marks are there save his own.

"Did he hurt you? Force himself on you?" Hand on his shoulder, fingers digging in enough to make themselves a focus of thought, pitting small bruises that bloom and fade in minutes.

"I already said he had the chip. It was consensual. Can you humiliate me more please, I love it." Wry smile, as familiar as the sardonic remarks at his own expense, but tension beneath.

Angel sits up in the bed, rubs his hands across his face, assesses Xander from beneath half-shuttered lids. "Xander, I want you to understand something. I have my soul, you have yours, but you still belong to me. Now, forever. I'm treating you as an equal, but we aren't. We won't ever be as long as we both walk this planet. You better be telling me the truth."

"Or what, you'd stake Spike?" Wide grin, real one this time, and he continues. "Trust me, there're better reasons than him fucking me. He didn't hurt me, coerce at first maybe, but you've seen him. Tasty. And I don't belong to anyone." Makes a move to roll back onto his side and let the lassitude claim him, dump him into the sleep that's wrapping heavy hands over him. He's startled to find himself instead on his back, pinned to the mattress by an angry and decidedly non-human Angel.

His voice as sharp as his teeth, he explains very carefully, watching Xander's eyes to be sure it's all being digested. "Just because I gave you pleasure and treated you with a soft touch doesn't mean I have to. I can take you when I please, how I please, and don't ever forget it. I don't want to hurt you, but some aspects of my nature can't be subsumed. And I haven't ever been known to share well."

"Great, now I'm your undead ass monkey?" Lifted eyebrow the only sign of any emotion on Xander's face, and Angel wants to let loose, teach Xander the real lesson of maker and made, but he couldn't if he tried. Demon slips away as he laughs, rolls off the boy and lays flat on his back.

"You need to learn some respect." Resignation in his voice that it might be as impossible for this childe as it had been for the others in the end, and he wonders if this is his special talent: turning the most unlikely of humans into the most unconventional of demons.

Xander inches over to him, puts his head on Angel's shoulder, drapes long limbs over powerful thighs and a broad chest. "Don't hold your breath, not that it would matter," he mutters as he finally falls into the sleep he has been seeking.

Angel wraps an arm around Xander's back reflexively. Time doesn't erase the sense memory of ease in repose. Lapses into his own thoughts. Tripping over the disconcerting sameness of Xander, a person he knew only from a distance, and never well. Soul in full control, or close to, Angel drags that thought around. So newly made, the demon should have more power, but how would Angel know, honestly? Hubris to compare his fate to that of the being nestled against his body. No lives on his hands, no blood shed, and no apparent impulse for carnage. Angel allows himself a weakness he infrequently indulges, hope.

=end=


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander disobeys, Angel asserts the rights of the Sire.

"Wow, Xander, you know, those holes in your neck aren't healing at all. Isn't that weird or something? All your other wounds are gone, aren't they?" Alone with her, so no obvious way to pretend he can't hear her. The men out killing and saving the victims of the earth, him back at the pad with Cordelia who smells far too complex, the scent falling and rising with her movements, musk, floral, talc, leather, and under it all her blood thump-thump from her heart. //"Stay here, Xander, don't go anywhere while we're gone." 'Why can't I come along, I've fought a few demons in my time." "Because I said so, you're still getting your sea legs, give it a few days."//

"Hello, earth to Angel junior." Waving her invoices in the air above her head to grab his attention, tank top exposing the wandering, blue artery next to her armpit.

"Could I vote on that nickname?" Drops her arm and smiles, teeth gleaming white, lips tight from enthusiasm for the chance at mirth.

"No, nicknames don't work that way, as a matter of fact, since you hate it so much, Junior it is." Finds herself so amusing, whisper of a laugh escaping, but Xander isn't laughing along. Has to suppress a sudden violent impulse to slap the grin from her face //She's belittling your dignity, just a human, she thinks she's your companion, not your next meal// As soon as it arises, shock forces it out. Looks over at Cordelia, who's too busy doing her paperwork now to see the stricken expression on his face.

"Cordy, do you think I'm evil now?" Doesn't know why he asks beyond the fact that he feels he might be, maybe not evil, but certainly not as good as he used to strive to be.

"Evil? As in straight from hell? No, I guess you're just kind of like Angel, except Angel was really evil, more than evil, Anti-Christ, and killing and maiming and lovin' every minute of it, and I know he still wants to, I mean look how nuts he just went..."

Her words fading to a buzzing drone, pressure washed in shades of garnet as the irritation of her ever-present attitude is bumped up by rage. Demon roaring through him as she impugns the Bloodline, the Sire. Pride and something else, some baser instinct that was never present before demands he stop the lowing of the cattle, that's what she is, she's lesser, she's other, she's *blood* in a skinsack. Urge to reach out and just devour her so strong that his canines throb in his gums, the skin of his forehead prickles, demon surging to the fore.

"Shut up!" Turns away from her, hides the ridges and fangs and tries to suppress them.

"What did you say?" Abrupt kick of alkaline anger/fear in her scent, and all hope of quashing the beast is rapidly fading. Anger whipping through him, at her for the belittling of who he is now, at himself for the lack of control, boiling together and raising the darker side of his faceted nature.

"I told you to shut the fuck up." Rumble in his chest and he knows she can't hear that, but it's there all the same.

"I don't know who you think you're talking to, Alexander, but you better get it together." On her feet and around the desk towards him, his desire is to beat her until she screams her apologies through ruptured lips, instead turns on his heel and runs out the new front doors of the Hyperion.

Her startled shout follows him out into the street, and he's a block away before the smell of her is out of his nose. Beast subsiding to a controllable degree, but he's still keyed up. Fight and feed are out of the question right now, so his senses clamor for the other release, the one least likely to end in the spilling of anything other than his seed.

=====

As soon as he's in the door, he knows this is a bad idea. Maybe on some other night when he's not already in a furor from Cordelia's unknowingly baiting him this could be entertaining, so much to take in, be turned over and stroked in his mind, but his apprehension has no place when the crowd shoves in the door behind him, loud and bright, blood thinned with alcohol. Xander prowls past the inebriated twenty-somethings to the relative shelter of the end of the bar, lets his fingers run over the wood, feel of the grain well defined, familiar and grounding. Buffeted on all sides by the sound of a hundred heartbeats, the sight of bare necks and pulsing carotids, the odor of sex and desperation clinging to everything in here.

Squirming warmth against him, jet black curtain of hair, perfume and perspiration equally strong. The girl's eyes bright and unnaturally blue, Xander can see the rim of the colored contacts floating on the surface of her eyes, sees the brown irises behind them, and he realizes she's smiling at him. Giggled apology for her jostling belied by the way she rubs herself against him again even though the crowd has surged into another area, and there's all kinds of room for her to step away.

Drive to mate stronger now than any other, the musk of her arousal riding on the wave of drunken abandon, and Xander has no trouble convincing her to step outside so they can talk. Hands on the swell of her hip, curve of her tight little ass, pressing her against him so she's absolutely aware of the discussion they're going to have. More giggles from her, murmur of acceptance, and she lets him slide a hand under her skirt right there at the bar before grabbing it and leading him off.

Outside, down the block to the alley between the bar they just left and some dark and shabby looking drycleaners. She's tripping along in heels that look too delicate to support even her small frame, and she turns to face him once they're in the shadows. Licks her lips and squeals like a piglet when he picks her up by her waist and shoves her against the rough brick of the building. His mouth on hers cutting off the indignant protest, and it was all a game anyway. He can tell by the way her legs come up around his hips, grinding her pelvis against the hard ridge of his cock through the jeans he wears. Tongue meeting his, her mouth sucking and wet, little sighs of pleasure as he nibbles along her lower lip.

He lets her slide down the wall, gain her footing so he can pop the button on his jeans. Grabs her hand and presses it against his cock as he tugs her skirt up and uncovers the scrap of fabric she's claiming as panties. Her fingers close over him tentatively, then with more enthusiasm as he pulls the neckline of her shirt down and tumbles her breasts out, kneads them roughly, thumbs flicking over the hard buds of her nipples.

One arm around her waist again, new strength making her feather-light as he shifts her weight up against his hipbone, free hand tearing apart the silky thong to bare her wetness to the night air and his cold hard length. She gasps as his fingers stroke her, part the plump wet lips and slip inside, gather the slick moisture. Twists them a little, pulls out and teases the pouting rise of her clit, brush brush rub, and while she's still whimpering against his shoulder as he adjusts the position of their bodies, pushes her down on him.

Short, wailing cry from her and it goes right through him, tightens every muscle, makes his skin creep and gather. Leans forward so she's back against the wall, leverage for his need to slam into the tight, wet, heat of her. First time inside a mortal since the turning, and it's like fucking liquid fire. Her gasping moans urge him on, the scent of her arousal climbs to a jagged clear note in his head. She wiggles again, grinds her hips into his pubic bone, straining for the friction. Clasps her hands around his neck, shimmies up his body, moist mouth on his neck muffling the noises she makes.

Xander buries his face in the blue-black fall of her hair. The thudding of her heart deafening and quick, he finds himself pounding into her in time to the beating. Realizes he's caught on the edge of climax, groans wildly into her neck, bites down. She clenches her internal muscles around him, no sound, but her body goes rigid as her blood fills his mouth, and he comes inside of her, violent and mind numbingly intense. Tingle of the fresh blood like electric sparks inside of him, tongue pressing the flesh and urging fresh gouts over his lips. The taste of fresh blood on his tongue overwhelming and rightrightright. Her heart flutters, he can feel it, rabbit-fast then staggering to a slow thump...thump... The silence between beats growing, and he can taste the difference in her blood. Less rich, like wine diluted with melted ice, and he senses she's dying.

He's killing her.

Tears himself away and she slumps back awkwardly in his arms, and legs dropping from his body like a rag doll's limbs. Hears a keening sound, realizes he's the one making it, whining like a beaten dog, and he crashes to his knees on the slime and muck covered concrete of the alleyway. Feels his dick slip from her as they fall, and her weight hits the pavement. Literally frozen in place, terrified, sure that she's dead, but she makes a dry clicking sound in the back of her throat. Hands shaking raggedly, Xander puts them over her chest, tries to reign his thoughts in enough to concentrate on the girl's heartbeat, and finds it there, thready but not stopping.

Pulls his hands back from her as if stung and tugs at her clothing to cover her nudity. Stands up, tucks himself in and zips up as he backs away from her. Pause at the opening of the alley and there's no one in site, so he shoves his hands deep in the pockets of Angel's borrowed jacket and walks with his head down past the bar, around the corner and breaks into a run. Scared witless that someone's seen him, someone who can identify his face later. In police reports, in artist's sketches on the news for Cordelia or Wesley or Gunn to see "Blood crazed rapist" news at 11.

It's not them he fears, not the humans back home, those aware of his altered life, those blithely or not so blithely unaware. It's his Sire he fears, his hatred and his disapproval. Falling short in the eyes of his maker, and he runs faster, no shortening of breath to slow him down. Stops when he loses his way to duck into yet another bar to attempt to cover the smell of human blood from his mouth with alcohol and to wash his hands and the knees of his pants over and over again with anti-bacterial soap.

+++

Half-step in the door of the building, and Angel *knows* Xander's not here. Gunn and Wes limping in behind him can't see his face, the snarl wanting to break out. Cordelia peaks over the check-in desk at him.

"Where's Xander?" Voice steady and low. Drops his weapon on the settee, fingers itching to keep the axe in his grip.

"How the hell would I know? He flipped his lid out of nowhere and ran off." As pissed as Angel, and he knows there's more to this story. Either protecting herself or Xander, and he doesn't really care which.

"Did he hurt you?"

She dismisses him with a wave of her hand, "Do you see a pile of dust anywhere?" and turns back to the desk to answer the phone. The three men listen to her side of the conversation.

"Hello? Oh, hi Willow. No, he's not here...I have no idea, he ran off."

Exasperated sigh from Wesley and he hurries over to grab the receiver, annoyance plain on his face. "Cordelia, give me the phone." Turns to look at Angel as he calms the frantic young woman on the other end of the line, speaking distractedly as he reads the tension apparent in the way Angel's holding himself perfectly still. "Yes, Willow, he left, but certainly did not run away. He just went out for a bit. He'll be back shortly. Naturally, we'll be happy to tell him you called..." Brief exchange of pleasant good-night's, and he replaces the receiver gently on the base.

"You think he's gonna head home? Where should we start looking, A?" Gunn hefts the axe he carries, up to his shoulder with the easy grace of familiar movement.

Angel forces himself to speak lightly, turns away from Wesley's intense gaze. "Nowhere, he'll come back. Why don't you guys go home? I can deal with this."

"Whatever..." Snort from Cordelia, and he knows she's standing there with her arms crossed, hip cocked, one foot in front of the other. Has an inkling that she might have been the thing to drive Xander out of the hotel, knows he's felt the urge to walk away from her on more than one occasion.

"Cordelia, this is between Xander and me. Let me handle it." No discussion in the tone, and he knows she's pissed about it. Her eyes narrow the tiniest bit as she considers making an issue of it, then the fine lines in her forehead even out as she comes to some decision.

"If you're certain..." Wesley, more familiar with the underlying power play at work here than anyone else present could begin to guess at. He seems to have no scholarly interest in seeing the things he's doubtless read of in countless books displayed in a flesh and blood tableau.

"I don't get all up in family business, I'm outta here." Gunn shrugs, turns and walks out, arm upraised in parting. Wesley gathers Cordelia and ushers her out, stammering words of farewell, anxiousness to be gone evident in the way his movements have gone graceless and jerky. Cordelia's goodbye is cool, aloof, normally cause for some concern on Angel's part but tonight utterly insignificant.

Tonight Angel's emotions are knotted up in a ball, frustration, fear, rage. His boy, his childe, disobeying his word so flagrantly. Wandering off when he was told to stay put. Couldn't realize how unacceptable that is, how it would set off a reaction in Angel that even his soul can't quiet. The fear clamping on like a rider to the anger, petrified that he'll meet his end, again, this time permanently. Out of the shower, and he feels the pull, the disquiet that announces Xander's return. In the elevator, and striding through the lobby before he can get a hold on his temper.

"What did I tell you when I left?" Sounds as pissed as he is, knows this is not the tact to take but long past the point of dealing with this in any semblance of reason. Worry maxing out the gut-level reaction to disobedience, he walks right up on Xander and slams the front door shut behind him.

"Not to go anywhere." As Xander turns, Angel's brain explodes, the smell greeting him is not the boy's but another's, cloying female odor smothering the comforting smell of family.

Flare of hysteria washing over his vision and he asks, "You want to tell me where you've been?"

"Why don't you put one of those house arrest anklets on me, then you would know at all hours." Xander smells the anger, the rage, and worse than that is knowing he's in the wrong. Knowing it beyond the level of intellectual comprehension, knowing in his flesh that the Sire is not to be disobeyed in anything he commands. Brushes past Angel, puts some distance between them, something to still the quivering apprehension that punishment will be meted out, and rightly so. The girl's blood coursing through his body as a constant reminder of how much he deserves whatever Angel can hand out.

Sudden blur of movement, the room moving impossibly fast as it rushes past him, and Angel's pinning him to the desk. "I don't need one to know you've been out fucking some girl."

"So? I didn't know we were in a monogamous relationship." Won't look up, lowered eyes signifying equal parts guilt and terror. Doesn't see the open hand when it swings through the air to come flashing down and across his face, bruising backhanded blow that heats his skin and knocks his head onto the desktop.

"You will not speak to me like that." Gathers the jacket and shirt, pulls Xander to his feet and up another inch or so, face to face. "You disobeyed me tonight"

"Well you just hit me, so we're even." Wrong thing to say, he knows it even as it spills out of his mouth, but Xander has never been able to control the part of himself that speaks without thinking. He has a split second to consider the implications before he hits the wall, and another before Angel is on him again, knuckles of his hand making Xander's jawbone ache.

Angel picks him up, shakes him like a puppy. "We are not *even*, there is no even. You walked out of this building when I specifically told you not to and ran off to fuck some whore without my leave, then you come back here unrepentant and run your mouth in my face."

"Reverting to your old ways?" Xander spits the words out like they taste bad in his mouth. "I'm not Spike, you can't beat me into submission just because I do something you don't want."

Roar of rage, and Xander's world narrows to the blunt impact of Angel's fists on his body, skin splitting high on his cheek, lip bleeding, head snapping from side to side until he collapses under the force of it. Angel stands over him, hands hanging loosely at his sides, then backs up and leans on the desk, watches Xander swipe the back of his hand across his face, capture the blood from his lip and cheek on his jacket. "I've been too easy on you, giving more than I take and letting you believe you were anything other than alive at my whim."

"You want me to be your slave? Is that what you want?" Xander's eyes are dark, fathomless. He rolls over, crawls with his eyes focused on the carpet until he's crouched in front of Angel on his knees. He takes in the rise in the black pants, reaches out and pops the button, peels them back and exposes the pale thickening length. Presses his face to the nest of black curls that surround the base and inhales.

Xander's voice is thick as he asks, "Does it get you off to hit people? Turn you on to see me bleeding at your feet?"

Angel's hand slips into Xander's hair, tugs roughly so that he face is upturned. "It used to, looks like you bring it out in me." He watches Xander's tongue flicker out to taste the blood drying on his lips before releasing his grip.

Hands tugging the pants from Angel's hips, letting them puddle at his ankles. He's still leaning back against the desk, hips thrust forward from the pose, cock erect and jutting. Xander's hand grasps the shaft, pulls down so the foreskin rolls back, slicks his tongue over the exposed head. Keeps his eyes trained on his hand curled around Angel's dick, the other coming up to cup the heavy sac. Mouth wide, tongue slicking the way, Xander swallows him to the root, his own hand pressed tight against Angel's belly, scratching in the wiry black hair.

Already well learned art of pleasing the Sire, and he puts himself to the task. Keeps his mouth wet, saliva drooling out around his lips as he sucks and releases. Special attention to the velvety rounded head, tongue tracing the rim before flicking across the width of it, dipping into the slit. Angel's hand at the back of his head then, pressing him forward pressing into wounded flesh making him drool more from the pain. Xander opens his jaws wide, relaxes his throat and swallows, sucks him in. Hums around him, vibrations from the purring growl in his chest, and Angel's hand tightens, clenches, hips press forward as he bucks into Xander's mouth. Comes with a low, exhaled "Yesssss" and shudders as Xander continues to suckle and lick him until there's nothing left.

Without a word, Xander pulls Angel's pants back up, tugs up the zipper, stands and walks away. Angel take a few moments to collect himself and realize what he's done. The anger bleeds away, and he's left with his constant companion, guilt. Difficult in the haze of madness and fury for Angel to remember that Xander isn't just a demon, not just his personal possession, but still invested with his soul, human emotions getting the better of him, protocol for relating to his betters not instilled. He makes his way to his bedroom ready to apologize, attempt to explain, soothe the boy and beg forgiveness with their nightly embrace.

When he gets upstairs, he feels Xander down the hall, in his own, usually abandoned room. Fills the doorway and gazes down on Xander curled in a ball on top of the covers.

"You're sleeping in here?" His voice is quiet, already at work on his apology.

"Looks like it." Shoulders hunch up even more, legs drawn up as if he's trying to disappear.

"I'm sorry, Xander." Steps into the room, closer to the bed, wants to lay gentle hands on all the places he hurt, caressing out his sorrow.

"You say that a lot. After a while people get tired of it." Xander's voice is monotone, no emotion in it at all.

"I know you're upset, I was worried."

//you should be worried, angel, you should be, because i am// "Oh, those were worried punches, where have I heard that before?" Tries to cover the fear/hurt with anger and accusation.

"Xander..."And he knew that, he *knew* it all along, the half heard whispers between Buffy and Willow that he hadn't paid much attention to before falling into place now that it's all been confirmed.

"And stress usually reduces libido not send it off the chart. Stop fooling yourself, Angel -- you're in control of yourself less than I am." Flinches when he feels Angel narrow the gap between them to less than a foot. //that was a whopper//

"Please, will you let me talk?" Hand on Xander's shoulder, he can feel the tension that runs along his skin and tightens his muscles. Wants to scoop him up, carry him out of this room and back to him own bed, slip into the familiarity of what has become for him a time and place to relax.

"You're the boss, right? You can shut me up anytime." Angry shrug of his shoulder to remove Angel's contact.

Running the displaced hand through his hair, Angel bites back the impulse to make his point physically for the second time tonight. "Fuck, I get the point! Listen, I know you're restless, you can go out on your own, you're not a prisoner."

"Then why did you treat me like one?" Glance over his shoulder, eyes the color of bitter chocolate.

"Because I expressly told you..." Stops himself, then says, "Forget that, you can go out. Maybe you want to go shopping or something, I'll give you some money." Sees Xander's eyes narrow before he turns away, and he curses his own choice of words.

"Next is the part where you say it won't ever happen again, right?" The boy hasn't unclenched a micron since Angel sat down, seems determined to hold onto his wounded pride and hurt feelings.

"Actually, I can't promise that. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'll try to let up. Tomorrow night, go out, do whatever you want." Might as well be honest with him now, after their first enactment of willful disobedience and the recriminations it brought. Hard lesson to learn, and one he doesn't want to have to teach over and over again.

"Fine. Whatever. Clothes would be good." Weary, resigned to saying anything to get Angel away from him so he can begin to sort out the events of the night without the disturbing niggle that draws him to Angel no matter what his feelings might be. Curled up in this tight fetal ball to keep himself from rolling over, baring his neck, begging for forgiveness. Warring waves of self hatred and self pity buffet him, and he knows that comfort is his for the asking.

It's the asking that sticks in his throat.

"You coming to bed now?" Even when the comfort is offered freely, Xander stiffens further. What he did tonight, the disobedience, the sex, and most of all the feeding weigh heavily on him in soul and demon, both condemning his actions for their own reasons. He can't go to Angel until he's made some kind of peace within himself, or until he's flagellated himself sufficiently to feel he's earned his place beside him.

"I'm already in bed." Voice low, feels tears threatening, and god, isn't he ever going to *leave*

"Xander, it doesn't have to be like this."

Summons up a spark at the sound of that soft voice, turns and faces Angel with eyes that glint golden in the darkness. "No? This is the choice you made when you beat the shit out of me for fucking someone else, don't tell me it was all about going out alone. I already blew you, get the hell out."

Turns over right away, face in the pillow and misses the guilt washing over Angel's features before he draws to his feet and walks out leaving the door open behind him. Pauses inside this own suite and hears the click of the lock when Xander closes his door himself a moment later.

In the moment when his demon took over, Angel couldn't distinguish what flavor of emotion was the predominant one. Rage at the boy for not being contrite at breaking the law of master and mastered, regret so vivid as to obliterate will at having brought him this life, fright at losing him so soon, pain that he would go to another for solace in the night, and that last emotion comes by another name, one Angel won't let himself ponder when it flits through his mind, jealousy. He strips and falls into bed, hating himself as he does every night, the wound bleeding again for the most recent crime, alienating the only other being who might ever have the chance of understanding him in any real manner. //The righteous shall walk a thorny path.// Knows he's not one of the righteous, maybe self-righteous on bad days, still questing after true righteousness. Wants to throw his hands up and proclaim himself just a man, one man in the sea of iniquity, his own included. But he's not even that, a man. A duality, two in one, also until a little over a week ago, unique. Crisis upon crisis and agony of spirit over the last couple years has left him weak, even after his bleak moment of clarity. Accidental off-spring are common to humans, but unheard of amongst vampires, and yet he has one now. Realizes as dawn pricks the sky and his thoughts bundle themselves away for the next few hours, he's barely thought of Darla since Xander came to his bed.

=end=


	4. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander plays the spoiled brat, Angel reaps the rewards.

The sun barely gone from the sky, still pink across the edges, and Cordelia is finishing the filing. She considered not coming in at all today, hurt feelings over Xander's complete mental breakdown and Angel's dismissal still slightly tender. She decided coming in late is repayment enough, but ends up evening it out by working until Angel wakes and comes downstairs.

Jacket over his arm, he heads over to her. Not really expecting an apology for his attitude last night, and not disappointed when he doesn't even mention the whole ordeal, she watches his studied, blank expression.

"Cordelia, I need to go out for a while. When Xander gets up, will you give him this?" He lays his credit card on the counter; she eyes it and him.

"That's an American Express." Arms crossed, one delicate eyebrow arched.

"Yes, and?" Utterly clueless as to what the issue might be regarding the card. Knowing Cordelia, it could be anything from the wrong color to the wrong lender to possibly him being wrong in even possessing one.

"You're giving him your credit card?" Eyebrow threatening to disappear into her hairline now, and she leans against the desk in almost the exact same pose she was in the night before. Tries to shake off the superimposed image of her standing at the counter repeated over and over in different outfits, different hair colors and styles, echoing her own movements and terse speech.

"Loaning."

"That card has no limit."

"I know how the system works." Exasperation, constant companion these days, especially when Cordelia is part of the mix. Angel has a sudden whistfulness for the solitude he had weeks ago, although not for the circumstances surrounding it.

"He could run away to Tahiti."

He wonders if she keeps a running list of absurdities to throw at him any time he does something the slightest bit out of his well-worn rut. Thinks briefly of what her reaction might be if he came downstairs someday in a white suit and panama hat, just for the shock value. "Not enough shade, and I'm not too worried about it."

"Whatever, I'm not gonna mention how I haven't had a raise, and you're obviously way more flush than you let on." She strolls casually over to him, picks up the card and taps the edge of it on the countertop, quick staccato rhythm. Like her fingers are burning from being around the little piece of plastic, and she can't quite hold it but won't let it go either.

"Good, I wouldn't want you to bring that up again. I'll be back in a few hours." He's half turned away from her already and shrugging into the duster, sweeping out the door and leaving her looking at the card with a mixture of envy and annoyance.

Finally, she gives a long, heartfelt sigh, lays the card back down on the counter and returns to her filing. She, Wesley and Gunn have been struggling to go on as usual since Xander came to be with them, but like any new partnership there's still some kinks in the system. Gunn's apparently having some issues with 'the new vamp on the block,' as he insists on referring to Xander, although Cordelia has seen them talking a few times, and she knows Gunn will come around. Still burnt from Angel and his Darla hijinks, and the added bonus of another half light/half dark individual in their midst is unsettling, worrisome, Xander unknown more even than Angel.

Idle thoughts occupy her while her hands do the shuffle and push of paperwork, and she's almost relieved to hear Xander come down the steps. She looks up, wondering whether he's going to be back in Psycho Boy mode right away, or if it's all forgotten on his part. She wants to be mad at him still, but she admits to herself that she could've done *something* to set him off, even if she has no idea what it was, and that's enough to make her hold her temper on it. For now.

All thoughts of the fight forgotten when she sees him, though, and shock is evident in her voice when she nearly yelps at him. "What the hell happened to you? Did you get hit by a bus?"

Xander smiles at her sheepishly, puts his hand up to touch the faded bruises on his face. "Something like that."

"Did you get in a fight?" She's around the counter, eyes scanning him for further damage. Second nature to her now, find the wound and fix it up, that's her job, or the part of it that doesn't include teeth-rattling Omni-max films in her brain.

"Yeah, a bar fight, it was insane." He looks away, shifts his eyes as he lets the lie drop out casually, wonders if the ability to tell the complete truth has gone the way of sunrises for him

"You're lucky no one accidentally impaled you with a chair leg." She peers at him for a few more seconds, seems satisfied that there's no major damage, and backs up a little, personal space defined in a different way now that there's no need to be up-close.

He grins at her, easy smile, notes that she seems perfectly willing to let things be OK with them, unaware that he came pretty damn close to putting her in the hospital not so many hours ago. "I hear that happens all the time. Where's Angel?"

"He left. You know how he is, didn't say where he was going or when he'll be back, but he left this for you." She waves the card. "You must have really sucked up when you came home."

Xander laughs out loud at her choice of words, says, "Major sucking."

"So, what're you gonna do with this baby?" She hands it over to him, and he takes it casually, stuffs in into the pocket of Angel's jeans held up by a wide belt.

"Go shopping for some new clothes."

"Someone just said the magic word." His gaze fixed on her as he takes in the flush of her cheeks, the shine in her eye, and feels like the world's biggest jerk for the way he lost his temper at her for just being herself. She had way to know that her off-hand remarks were taboo, and neither did he until he was caught up in the reaction.

"You wanna go with?"

Mile wide smile and she looks like she's ready to bounce. "I thought you'd never ask. You don't have a reflection to know what looks good, so I'll be your reflection."

"I have to eat first."

She follows him to the kitchen. "What are you gonna buy?"

He pulls two bags of blood from the fridge, pauses and pulls out two more. Nicks the top of them with a fork and stacks them in the microwave, pushes the buttons.

Turns to see her staring at him. "What?"

"Um, hungry?"

"Yes." Sound of the bell and he grabs the bags, tears them open, upends them into the plastic container on the counter and begins to feast.

"You're gonna get a blood belly." Unexpected to have her joking about something that he himself used to find repulsive and he laughs, sprays the blood a little, not quite the old milk-out-your-nose routine but close enough.

She turns away, hand up to block the sight of him wiping his chin, smear of pink left behind. "Oh, that's so sick. I'm gonna gag."

"Maybe you'll shut up a minute then." Finishes the blood quickly, hopes it's enough to settle him down and carry him through the shopping spree. It fills his belly, but he knows it's not what he needs. It's missing the richness of live, human blood, and now that he's tasted the difference his demon refuses to let him settle for anything less. He could stand here and drink all the blood in the fridge, and he'd be no more satisfied than if he'd taken gulp after gulp of red-colored water.

"Watch it, Junior. Back to the shopping, going for the full vampy-makeover?"

He shrugs, tosses the empty container towards the sink. "Sure, why the hell not."

"You think Angel would notice if a couple charges on his card were for pants slightly smaller than yours?" She's literally on tip-toe as she asks him, and when he turns to her he finds himself eyeing the side of her neck, newly exposed by her haircut and looking tender and vulnerable. Appearing like the perfect place to get his dessert, frankly, and he shivers.

"Get whatever you want, I won't tell the master. Let's break the bank." Guilt is a wonderful motivation for generosity. Angel already knows this and Xander is offering it up to her by proxy, guilt at the thoughts from last night and the throbbing desire to suckle her neck currently.

He laid awake most of the day, listening to the sounds of the hotel around him, the noises on the street. Cordelia and Wesley chatting downstairs, the click of her hands on the keyboard. Smell of tea and coffee mingling and drifting, and later something heavier when Cordelia returned with lunch for them both. By then he was starting to fall into the unforgiving need to sleep, but the whole time he'd been unable to stop thinking about the night before.

The girl's blood running through his veins, wild and hot and just *so right.*

He tries to forget it as they walk out the door, Cordelia chattering about the best places to find the kinds of things she swears he needs to have.

= = = = =

Angel's attempting to appear engrossed in "In Style" magazine when Cordelia returns to the Hyperion laden with shopping bags bulging in her hands and under her arms. He doesn't flinch. Expected nothing less, passive aggression through twisting the offered gift into a shopping spree appropriate for the spoiled brat he had treated Xander as.

"Where's Xander?" Forces himself to keep reading the same paragraph he's been staring at for the last 45 minutes, doesn't want Cordelia to know how disappointed he is that Xander isn't tagging right behind her.

"Ditched me. Said he wanted some time alone. I told him not to, that you might get all bent out of shape again. You know, he said he was in a fight, yeah right." She drops the bags, shakes her hands to restore circulation, pointedly doesn't look at him.

"What are you talking about?" Closes the magazine, no pretense at nonchalance now, and he wonders what the boy told her, really. //fishing, maybe she's just fishing, waiting for me to trip up. he wouldn't tell her...would he?//

"The bruises, and don't even try to say 'What bruises?' I'm not gonna call the child abuse hotline, but you better not lift a hand to him when I'm anywhere around to see it." Sits down on the couch across from him, and he notes that her eyes look dark, shadowed. He imagines she feels a large amount of guilt for what's happened. Not the type to come in and cry on anyone's shoulder, not her style; she deals much the way he does - in solitude. He knows her facade of breezy empty-headedness is hiding a keen perception and a greater intelligence than she cares to allow anyone to see until she's ready for them to do so.

"Cordelia." Arranges his words in preparation for what he sees as a losing battle, and she cuts him off before he can begin.

"Whatever you're about to say, I don't want to hear it, and unless your gonna start beating the help, shut it." She snatches the magazine from his hands and leans back, legs crossed at the knee, foot swinging to her own internal music. Ignoring him.

Angel looks at her, opens his mouth several times and each thinks the better of it and says nothing. Not a fight he cares to take on, and not one he can win at any rate. Looks at the pile of shopping bags and clears his throat. "What's in the bags?"

"Xander's clothes. Wanna see?" Peeks over the top of the magazine at him, foot still bouncing.

"Do you think he would mind?" Brow wrinkling in concern. Still trying to be sure the bribe to be forgiven has really been accepted, not wanting to topple whatever delicate balance might have been achieved by Xander's acceptance.

"You're a freak." Growl of disgust and she tosses the magazine aside, swings her leg over, stands.

"Does that mean yes or no?"

Pushes the pyramid of bags over in front of him and glances at her watch. "If you're thinking of stealing any of them, I think they're too small. I have to go meet Wes for darts. See you tomorrow."

"I don't think Xander and I have the same taste in clothes." Mumbled words that she snickers at as she shuts the door and leaves him alone.

Curiosity overcoming him, sure he's about to find bags full of clothes that will scar his retinas with their brilliant hues, Angel pulls them over closer and begins to peer inside. The first bag yields several long sleeved cotton t-shirts, black, navy, burgundy. Not what he was expecting, but better than what he'd expected. The next bag is heavy, the plastic handles stretched out from the weight, and inside are black boots, Doc Martens, and a box that contained another pair at one point and now holds Xander's sneakers. He lays them out on the couch and continues to dig. Fifteen minutes later, he looks at the wardrobe spread out before him.

Three pair of leather pants, two black, one dark brown. One black leather jacket, soft and supple under his fingers. Ten lycra-blend shirts, black and deep red, navy and the same brown as the pants. Two belts in black and brown, and the clothing Xander had borrowed tonight when he got dressed folded neatly inside the bag that had tags for whatever he was wearing right now.

Angel makes a mental note that while there are several pairs of socks, there is no sign of any underwear at all. Thinks of the boxers he gave Xander to wear, and the ones he himself wears, and then thinks of Xander out somewhere alone. In an outfit he bought today. Doubtless an outfit looking much like the clothing he's staring at now. Ponders leather pants and form-fitting black lycra molded to the long lines of his childe's body.

The scent of some nameless and faceless girl all over him last night, the things he had done out of rage and possessiveness. Xander on his hands and knees bleeding, mouth wrapped around him. Doesn't like the desire creeping up on him to go out and find his boy this instant, bring him home and chain him up. Likes even less the pang he feels when he considers gentler treatment and Xander's needs met with his own body. Knows himself well enough to see the transference of so many of his longings and never-spoken needs onto Xander. But simple clarity of psychological motivations doesn't bring with it the method of halting it.

Angel begins to pace the lobby.

=========

So much time alone with Cordelia and while he knows it's all the blood he downed before they went out, he felt comfortable with her again. Was able to see her as a person, as a friend, not just as someone who needs to be more aware of her environment or a tantalizing meal. Xander stands against the railing of the club and watches the youth of LA shake their groove thangs in tune to the latest ambient house mix, and knows she wanted him to invite her along with him. Watched the hurt flutter over her features when he ended the shopping trip by asking her to dump his new things and the borrowed Angel threads back at the hotel on her way home. She didn't ask him where he was going dressed in tight leather pants and possibly too snug shirt, just let him hop out on the curb and waved after warning him that Angel might be upset.

Xander focuses on one heart beat at a time as he turns back to scan the bar. It's starting to come easier, to isolate one human from another, distinguish the subtle differences between people in a crowded room. Since he fed on the girl the night before, he'd felt a quelling internally he could never have imagined. The blood extinguishing an ache he couldn't name. Part of him knows how wrong it is to play this game. The risk of Angel discovering that dancing is a ploy to disguise the scent of the human he plans to feed on shortly nothing compared to the line it crosses. Feeding from humans directly is wrong even if they live, but the rationalization is right there behind the emblazed letters e-v-i-l -no one dies, they're not hurt that badly, they can make more blood to replace what I take, I NEED it.

Comes back to himself when he feels a prickling on the back of his neck, sees a blond man at the bar staring at him openly. When Xander meets his eye, the man holds up a glass and shrugs one shoulder. Wonders to himself if he was ever this stupid, this naïve, a walking meal waiting for his executioner to walk in the door a with a bright smile and languid grace. Hesitates again when he sees how easy this mark will be, his stomach tightening and the guilt of his future actions making one last go. A single image makes his decision for him: a blood bag laying on the shelf of Angel's refrigerator.

Two drinks, some small talk, and Greg is ready to head anywhere Xander suggests. The backseat of Greg's car does fine. Lets the blond man kiss him, pet him through his pants, but when he moves to lower Xander's fly, the nuzzle against raised carotid becomes a well-placed bite. Xander listens to his victim's breathing and pulse as he feeds, and the instant he hears a larger gap between beats, withdraws.

Within fifteen minutes, he's in another club offering music he finds more to his liking, and he writhes and fondles partner after partner between drinks for the better part of the night. Hopes the scent of his latest meal is drowned out by the odors of his various dance partners by the time he gets home.

++++++++

Angel's sitting on the sofa in the lobby clad in silk pajama bottoms reading a large text. His eyes leave the book and follow Xander's movements through the doors and across the room toward him. His nostrils flare at the miasma of scents that cling to Xander, his eyes take in the way he's dressed, much the way Angel pictured him.

"You find your orgy finally?" Book set aside, he indicates the seat beside him, motions Xander over to join him.

"Unfortunately no." Xander falls into the seat, looks at the tips of his new boots.

"Dancing?" Right beside him, the pull of needing to be close powerful after such a long separation. Their first for this amount of time, and the hunger it created is nearly identical to the one for blood.

"Apparently." No heart beat to speed up, but the reflex to swallow out of nervousness is still there.

"I thought you wanted to be alone." He turns to look at Angel, who has moved closer to him on the sofa without Xander being aware of it.

"Alone in a crowd." Angel traces the vague forms of the bruises on Xander's face. Hints of discoloration above one eye and along his jaw line, busted lip healed completely. Considers how rapid the healing process was, doesn't think he would have healed quite so quickly himself remembering the run-in with the business end of Lindsey's sledgehammer.

"It's late, you wait until the bars were shutting down? Don't know any after hours clubs to squirrel away in until closer to dawn?" Xander's gaze hovers in space, unfocused and distant, and Angel's fear is back. Guilt diminishing as the sharper dislocation of loss ghosts in. Millions of warm bodies and hundreds of cold ones in LA for Xander to lose himself in, and Angel doesn't know how long he'll stay in the confines of stricture and exile in his Sire's home. Pictures walking through the hotel one night to find Xander's possessions gone and a note left for him: 'Had to go'. All his own doing for not knowing how to handle what could have been a precious gift. Isn't sure why he should even care, not sure, but he does all the same.

"I got tired. Just ready to come home, I suppose." Can tell Angel's guilty for losing his mind, letting his baser nature control him. All Angel ever is is guilty or angry, and Xander can relate. Just doesn't want to show how much, betray his secret and have Angel look on him with hurt or disappointment.

"You going to sleep in your room again?" The hushed tone causes Xander to look over. Attempt to gauge his mood and meaning. Is startled when Angel darts his tongue out to moisten his lips and his scent picks up spice. Until this exchange, Xander assumed all need manifested within him, considered the sexual interludes between them comfort for him and nothing to Angel. Could still be the case, and Angel's body responds to memories the same as anyone else's, Xander knows he's young, so much younger than this person beside him, and can't find a way to pin any motivations or intentions on Angel.

"I hadn't really thought about it." Drops his eyes as he speaks, not that it helps him in this case because Angel is already calling him on it.

"That's a lie." Hand out to whisper over the marks. They'll be gone by morning, but the memory will be there much longer for them both.

"Maybe it is. Why don't you ask me what you really want to know?" If lies are going to be part of the daily routine, then at least he's going to insist they be honest in other areas. No way he can stay here, give himself over to Angel and the rules required in this relationship and still have to worry that there's going to be secrets between them everywhere. He has his secret, and keeping lies straight has never been his strong suit.

"Do you intend to ever come back, or is this how it's going to continue to be?" Whole hand cupping the side of Xander's face, thumb brushing his lower lip.

"You make those kinds of decisions, and you know it." Hours of petting and fondling at the bar, the excitement of the feeding, and now Angel's hand on him is too much stimuli. He's achingly hard, and painfully aware that Angel is, too.

"I'm not interested in forcing you. But I might persuade you, if that's how you want it, prove how sorry I really am." Shock of Angel's mouth on his, light brush of his lips and flicker of his tongue as he traces Xander's with the tip. Slides his hand into Xander's hair and holds his head as he sucks and nips at his bottom lip. Wet slide of tongue again, pressing insistently, seeking entrance, sigh when Xander's mouth opens beneath his.

The room fades to a blur then darkness as Xander closes his eyes and lets Angel pull him closer, lean back and roll Xander's body on top of his Big hands on either side of his face as Angel devours his mouth with a skill that leaves Xander gasping needlessly. Angel's mouth has been intimately familiar with every part of his body except his lips, kisses not offered or taken in all the times they've been together. Fucked and fed daily, sometimes over and over again until one or both of them collapsed in exhaustion, but never once the intimacy of a kiss. Xander's learned to not even try anymore, just avoid Angel's face in a general way.

It's as if Angel's trying to make up for lost opportunities. His tongue sweeps over Xander's, licks the roof of his mouth. He turns his head to the side and plunders it again, one leg coming up off the couch to lock behind Xander's thigh and hold him still. Thrusts his hips up against the captive weight above him, and knows this isn't what he planned. Xander biting at his lower lip, sucking the freed blood into his mouth and feeding it back. Fingers dipped into the waistband of his pajamas stroking in circles and attempting to force their way between their bodies. Losing himself in Xander's gasped words against his lips "I'm so sorry, Angel, Sire, forgive...." cuts the words off with his tongue and lets them both find what they're seeking in shrieks and moans. Fleetingly thinks of his soul, but knows perfection is not what this union can ever bring, just an easing of oblivion.

++++

In the shower, blood and semen running down the drain, his new shirt in the trash in Angel's suite to hide it from one of the others finding it, Xander feels Angel approach. "Xander?" Stops at the door.

"Uh huh." Soaps himself up, wincing at the sore places on his neck and shoulder, bite marks barely closed.

"If you ever wanted company, if Cordelia didn't have a vision, I would go out with you."

Panic stricken stab of fear that he knows, that he tastes the blond guy in his blood somehow, not too crazy to believe that, he can smell everything else, why not. Freezes stock still, water running over his hair and into his eyes, mouth gaping open as he wills his brain to think, think, goddamnitallsaysomething.

Forces a chuckle into his reply. "I thought you didn't do the whole going out and partying thing." //calm, that's me, i'm calm, he doesn't have a clue//

"Not usually, but just if you wanted company, I might make an exception." //now he gets attached? now? jesus angel your timing sucks//

"Alright, when there's no vision to hinder it, and I feel lonely, we're on." Hates the way he has to blow him off, knows the offer wasn't lightly made. Tells himself that he'll bring him out one night, maybe two, and let him get a full on dose of raving humanity. No feeding, just crowds and noise and smoke, enough to make him rescind the offer to ever come out again.

"That'd be good." Angel walks away, and he's waiting there for Xander when he comes out of the shower. They slip into bed, bodies tumbling into a resumed natural pattern of rest, curved together in comfort. Falling into sleep.

+++++++++

LA is huge, never the same club twice, and no sign of running out of places to be lost in and never seen again .

On Thursday, her name was Maria, her hair was black, and she wore Creepers. He left her behind a garbage can out in back of the parking lot.

On Saturday, his name was Mike, his cologne was citrusy. Xander left him in the bathroom, propped on the toilet, pants around his ankles in case someone decided to look under the stall.

On Monday, there were two, Monica and Jim. Monica he can't remember very well because he had to drop Jim at the emergency room. Apparently Jim had a heart condition despite his age, and he'd tripped over the line into taccycardia as soon as Xander bit down. Scared the hell out of him, but didn't stop him from going out again and again.

=end=


	5. Chapter V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander is guilty, Angel is guiltier, Cordelia considers a new line of work.

Another late-night session of demon killing rehash between Gunn and Angel, and Wesley walks into the lobby of the Hyperion looking like the weight of the world is dragging down the pockets of his brown jacket.

"All those lottery tickets come up zeros again, English?" Gunn takes in Wesley's appearance and feels the ground shift. Knows Wes wears his heart on his sleeve, but this has the makings of bad.

Wes looks at him, only realizing he's there because he spoke. "No...I see, I haven't ever been good at concealing my thoughts, have I? I'm sorry to ask you this, Gunn, but would you mind if I had a private word with Angel? I hate to..."

Gunn waves off the apology. "I was on my way out anyway. Have your word or five. It's all cool. Later, Angel." Pulls himself to his feet and graces Wesley with a warm smile and a whack to the back as he rolls out the door.

"Bye." Angel turns his face to Wesley, and can smell the fear under cigarette smoke and whiskey. Worried that it took liquid courage to get Wesley through the door.

"Angel, I don't know how to tell you this..." Hands stuffed in his pockets, standing behind the sofa, pacing anxiously. Wants to say it, dreads the reaction, remembers the last time he saw Angel's temper.

"With words Wes." Watches him hustle himself from one end of the sofa to the other and says. "Sit down, Wesley, you're making me dizzy."

"Right, this is rather delicate..." Wes sits across from him, hands dangling loosely between spread knees.

"If it's about your sex life, could you talk to Cordelia about it?" Angel jokes lightly, tries to ease Wesley up a bit before he shatters here in the lobby, a pile of sharp little pieces of Rogue Demon Hunter all over the carpet.

"What? Oh lord, it's nothing like that." Blushes, clears his throat, forces himself to say it. "It's about Xander."

Wes notes the way Angel snaps to attention immediately at the mention of Xander's name. There's no actual movement, he's in the same place he was before those words hit the air, but he's all tight muscle and his eyes are very, very bright. "What about him?"

"Well, after the first night he went off on his own, I have been following him, or trying to at least." The way Angel's eyebrows draw together is enough to give Wesley pause. He wipes his hands on his pant legs in an unconscious gesture.

"Why would you do that?"

"I am concerned, all the more so after tonight when I finally was able to trace his movements. I know you have rather a lot invested in him, and..." Falters, trails off and can't complete the sentence. Thinking it is one thing, saying it to his face a completely different turn of events, and Wesley feels *girlish* for some reason.

"You were afraid he was going to hurt me." Angel's voice is soft, there's no hint of mockery or displeasure in it.

Wesley breathes a sigh of relief. "Yes."

"What happened tonight?" Straight back to business, and maybe this will all be alright, Wes tells himself.

"I followed him to a disco, and after a while, he left with this young girl."

"Left with a girl?" Flicker of emotion there, shadow of the pain that Wesley had been trying to save him from and something darker behind it, a touch of anger quickly pressed back into its space,

"Yes, and I, after a manner of speaking, spied on him." Blushes at the memory, feeling like a peeping tom, watching Xander flirt and caress the young girl, hearing their sighs and groans in the darkness.

"And?"

"He bit her." Flinches back from the flare of gold in Angel's eyes, feels his own heartbeat stagger up and down, never really returning to normal.

"How sure are you?" Low, steady cadence, each word bitten off, and the eyes still not quite losing that luminosity that had startled him just a moment ago. Wes swallows, suddenly aware of the excess saliva that has gathered in his mouth. "How sure, Wesley?"

Flush of his own anger making itself known at the prompting and he snaps. "Pretty damned sure since I drove her to the hospital after he left her unconscious."

"Wes, I think you want to leave now." Angel stands, as if to usher his guest to the door, but Wesley hesitates.

"Angel, I just..."

"I'm not angry with you, you did what you thought was the right thing. I understand your motivation. My anger is directed another way, but I think you should leave." Explaining the situation in a soothing tone that's completely belied by the tremor in his hands, and Wesley desperately grasps another chance to diffuse the bomb he has set to ticking.

He stands, forces himself to stay there despite his instinct for self preservation suggesting to him that he might want to take a few steps back. "Angel, before I go, I want you to listen to me. He didn't kill her. She wasn't even hurt badly, I don't offer that as an excuse, but I think you should keep it in mind."

"I will keep it in mind. Would you keep this between us for now?" //No need to rattle Cordelia's cage, no call to put Gunn on the warpath, that's what he's saying//

Wesley considers refusing, staying at the hotel and waiting for Xander's return with Angel to monitor the situation. Sees Angel's face ripple with ridges as his hesitation, "Yes, of course." Walks out the door hating himself for his part in this.

=====

Xander closes the door behind him, flips the lock over. No sign of Angel, and he stops right there to pull off the heavy boots. Gathers them up in his hands, strolls to the counter and snaps off the low light left burning for him. More symbol than necessity but still appreciated. He feels warm all over, skin flushed from the last feeding and the euphoria of it still heady. Knows he's smiling as he drops the boots and pulls off his shirt, gathers it all up in one hand and moves silently up the steps to Angel's suite.

Angel's sitting in one of the leather wingback chairs, legs crossed, fingers steepled together in front of him. Voice pleasant as he asks, "Did you have a good night?"

"Oh, nothing special." Xander sets the boots by the door, tosses the shirt up to lie over his shoulder.

"Nothing at all?" Dark eyes on him in the dim room, and he shrugs.

"Not really, I think I've pretty much done the club scene in LA." He peers closer at Angel, notes that he is still fully dressed. Would have taken greater heed of this abnormality, perhaps if he hadn't been so full of himself, high on the fresh feeding and the acquired arrogance of feeling secure in his deceptions. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I was waiting up for you." Finally lowers his hands, clasps them together in his lap.

Xander wrinkles his brow, tests the scents, find something there that he can't quite place but nothing that sets him to serious worry. There's no hint of arousal, and that itself is unusual, although there have been nights when he has to be the one to initiate things. Asks, "Any reason for that? Is something wrong?"

"Why don't you tell me." Flare of bitterness in the air, rush of pheromones that take a few milliseconds to waft over to Xander in his spot by the door. He's already started to reply when they hit him.

"Uh, how could I...oh shit..." All the warmth he's been feeling suddenly gone, sour taste in the back of his throat, blood that still sits in his belly roiling and churning. Remembers the violence of his last lesson and shudders to think of what this punishment might be, and if he'll survive it.

"How many?" Both feet flat on the floor now, hands unclasped and lying open on each knee.

"How..." Stops himself when Angel raises one finger on his right hand.

"You don't want to finish that sentence. We both know what I'm talking about. Your chances of leaving this room walking are decreasing by the second."

"Thirteen." //has it been that many? i've fed from thirteen people, and i used to be the good guy, i used to be the one who never strayed.//

"How many have you killed?"

"None." Eyes cast down and throat working, wondering if he's going to be sick.

"That you're aware of."

"They're all alive." He sounds like he's trying to convince himself as well as Angel, and it sounds pathetic to him. Shame washes over him, huge staggering waves of it, and he wishes for tonight back, so he can fix it. Not go out, stay here with Cordelia, wait for Angel in the bed.

"Why don't you kill them?"

The question startles him and he blurts out the first thing that comes to his head, so far enough from the truth that he winces as soon as it's out. "Because...well, I don't have to."

"Why don't you kill them?" Same tone of voice, as if he never asked the question the first time, and this time Xander considers a second before he replies.

"Because it's wrong."

"Why don't you kill them?" Monotone, relentless, and he wonders idly how many times Angel will ask before he gives and tells the truth. Would he stand here while the tail end of the night faded and the sun came up, with Angel repeating it over and over, a litany to drive him insane, followed by what will doubtless be a brutal beating that could very well leave him in bed for days. Thinks that the longer he stalls, the worse things are going to be for him, so he sucks it up and tells him the truth.

"Because you don't kill humans and I don't want to do anything to disappoint you."

"It took you three times to get that right. Over here. On your knees." Angel points to the floor in front of him and Xander walks over. His eyes flicker to Angel's face but there's no comfort or clue there. He drops to his knees, head bowed, shirt sliding to the floor in a glossy black puddle. The skin on his shoulders and back begins to tighten and crawl in anticipation of the blows he knows are coming.

Angel stands and circles him, Xander keeps his eyes trained on the floor, watches Angel's shoes pace in and out of his line of sight. When he finally speaks, the anger makes his voice tremble. "I could beat you, rip the skin off your back and drain you until your skin is as thin as paper, but that wouldn't change what you've done. It wouldn't undo it."

"I trusted you. I believed in you. You lied to my face, and I gave you everything I have left. I treated you like a lover, not a possession." Xander realizes that he's not getting off with the relative ease of a beating this time. Angel's words tear into him far more effectively than his fists had. Mortified at the enormity of his transgression, disgusted with the level of his betrayal of Sire and lover, all he can do is kneel and let the words continue to flay him. The tears start out silently and gather in force until he's choking back sobs.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out? Or were you dying for me to know?"

Xander raises his head, opens his mouth to say something, shuts it with an audible click when Angel snaps, "Don't answer, I don't care."

"You won't go out again without someone with you. I want you to tell me about it. Each person you fed from, starting with the first, and why you did it." The booted feet stop in front of him and Xander does sob now, loud, wracking sounds that make his shoulders heave.

"Just send me away. I can't stay here. I can't look at you." Choked out words, quiet between the noises of him crying and trying to reign it in.

"You're not going anywhere. Your punishment is the same as mine. I have to look at you every day knowing you betrayed everything I've given you, and you have to look me in the eye and know you did it. Now tell me about each person." Angel stands there towering over the form crouched and shaking at his feet. Waits for him to start talking.

Shuddering sigh and he begins, words tumbling out in a rush, hating to do it and wanting it over with. "The first was the girl I fucked, I don't even know her name. I drained her until she almost died and left her in an alley. The next was a guy named Greg the night after. I left him just after he went unconscious, and I got the rhythm from there. Then was Maria, Mike, Monica, the name thing was an accident, I just picked the people who flirted the most. Jim who I had to take to the hospital because he had some kind of heart thing. Beth, Casey .... uh, Jack, no Jake. Cole." Pauses. Doesn't need to keep count, he remembers their names. Sniffles loudly, wipes his hand over his face and sighs. " Then Paul, and Eric, he was a Goth kid and seemed to enjoy it, so I didn't even drink enough for him to pass out. And tonight, Christine. I did it because after the first time, which was an accident, I didn't mean to bite her, I was just caught in the moment, after that, the hunger was too much, I couldn't stop myself."

"Look at me." Hardest thing in the world for him to do, harder than he thinks it would be to step into sunlight, but he turns his face up, meets Angel's unwavering stare. "Are you sorry you hurt them, or are you sorry I know?"

"Stake me." Plea, whispered begging, he just wants this whole thing to be over for good. Can't bear the look in Angel's eye, the weight of his own guilt on his shoulders.

"If I had the guts to do that, I would have done it the minute you walked into the hotel." Angel glances away briefly and Xander can hear him breathing, sure sign of his anger. "Go to your room."

"Angel..."

"Don't call me that!" Head whipping back around, eyes furiously gold, and Xander flinches away, looks down at his knees, the shimmer of the refracted light on the shirt that still lays on the floor. Gets slowly and awkwardly to his feet and manages to walk out of the room without looking back. Stumbles down the hall to his own room, across the threshold. Stands there for a minute, ears straining for some hint of a signal that Angel might be calling to him, but he knows he's fooling himself. Strips off the pants with hands that shake, toes off the socks and falls numbly on the bed, face burrowed in the pillow to cover the sounds of his crying.

Angel watches Xander stagger to his feet and slowly walk out the door. When he's out of sight, Angel shuts and locks the door behind him. Runs his hands over his face and pours himself a huge drink from the decanter that hasn't been touched since the night Darla was there. Collapses in the chair next to him and starts picking himself apart. Thinks about the turning, and how each of Xander's crimes belong to him as well. Wasn't vigilant enough with his off-spring, let him roam freely because he fooled himself into believing the demon only came out to play during sex. Forgot that Xander could have sought out an easy meal when no one was looking over his shoulder. Visualizes the bruises, how he didn't give the healing enough thought, dismissed it in his need to redeem himself for losing control. All the time, Xander hiding his nightly frenzy, and Angel so deluded that he didn't even THINK this might be happening. Knows that blood lust, one taste and it eclipses all else. Skips over Xander preying on the innocents in the night to his own kills. Never left a victim alive. Except Kate. Can still taste her on his tongue when he pictures her face. Renewed lust for straight from the source human blood so overwhelming, he almost took her life for real the next time he saw her. Him, with the guilt of thousands of lives weighing down his every movement, and he was a heartbeat from caving in. Thinks of the lawyers he locked in the abattoir with Darla and Druscilla. Hears their screams echoing in his ears, and remembers the twisted grin on Lindsey's face over his knowledge of the lapse. Sees the gypsy girl's face contorted in pain begging for her life and her virtue, the hours he allowed her to cling to the hope of survival. Feels the tears cascading down his face when he calls up Xander's broken expression of regret when he sent him away. The first moment when real understanding could have passed between them, and all Angel felt was betrayal. Lets the sobs break free when he pictures Buffy's face contorted in much the same way his must have been minutes before. Grief is too shallow a word to express his pain. His crimes so much graver than his childe's, and his rage not truly over the lives Xander fractured, but for his perception of reality crushed. His trust extinguished and his hope smothered. Another opportunity for something shared gone, and he could have shown Xander why what he did was wrong beyond displeasing his Sire. Made him meditate on the fact that his meals came from people, men and women with families, friends, dreams and desires. That lesson shot to hell because all Angel could honestly feel was another loss, the devastation of opening himself up and letting Xander fill some of the spaces that craved another person. Hears Xander's whispered apology on the couch in the lobby again for what it really was, supplication for forgiveness for the unnamed sin. The bottom falls out of his heart when he comes to the end of his spiraling thoughts and realizes that he still needs Xander anyway, no simplicity of hate to stop the ache.

Drains his drink, sets the glass on the table, pulls his clothes off and throws them in a pile on the floor. Unlocks the door, and walks down the hallway to Xander's room. The door left wide open, he closes it behind him and locks it. Smells the despondency from the bed. Makes his way to the free side and climbs in next to Xander. Rolls on his side and wraps his body around his boy.

Xander tenses in the embrace, wanting it so badly that he is terrified of allowing himself to believe that it's truly happening. He smells the alcohol, under it the raw scent of pain. No arousal but something else, the unnamable need he can only define as the call of the blood, the thing within him that resonates to Angel being near. Angel's face pressed into his hair, and this close his can smell the dried saline of tears. It brings him a new surge of misery, something much worse than invoking anger. He's done more than anger Angel; he's hurt him, abused the trust, ruined it in all likelihood. Never on even footing to begin with, never the best of friends before the turning, Angel had shown him remarkable grace, placed faith in him. Xander regrets many things in his past, but nothing with this fervor.

With a shaky sigh, he relaxes into the shelter of Angel's arms and legs. Puts a tentative hand up to cover the larger one that rests on the pillow by his face, feels it flex to allow Xander to twine his fingers with the others. Closes his eyes and falls into a twitching and troubled sleep.

=====

When Xander finds wakefulness in the afternoon, Angel's absent from the bed, his missing weight a hole in Xander's chest. He showers, dresses, and considers whether he's supposed to leave his room. Figures Angel would have made that clear if he wasn't. Takes the stairs to the lobby, and is flabbergasted that there're no stakes or angry looks hurled his way. Cordelia and Gunn chatting, Angel reading the newspaper, only Wesley looks ill at ease, book open on the countertop, and when he turns his face up at Xander, there's sadness plain in the set of his mouth and eyes. Well, he knows now who discovered his extracurricular activities, but can't work up anything resembling anger or resentment, too deeply awash in his own shame.

"Hey, sleepyhead. Out late again?" Cordy's voice bright and perky, she grins at him from her desk.

"One night I need to take you to a *real* club, Junior. We can hang, and you can see the master at work." Gunn smiles broadly, even winks, and any other day it would be something of note, a sign that Gunn accepts his place here.

"Yeah, out late. Any coffee left?" Xander tries for casual, for the sake of Cordelia and Gunn if not himself. Doesn't know how to feel about them being out of the loop, although he has to say that he's grateful at the moment.

"No. You can make it yourself. Gunn hogged the last of it." Wrinkled nose and shrug of her shoulders when Gunn protests. Xander misses it, he's watching Angel out of the corner of his eye.

Angel doesn't look at him, turns the page of the paper with a soft rustle and continues reading.

Cordelia again, burbling on, in her own little world, head down as she types on the keyboard. Still has to watch the keys but considering the fact that he uses one finger, it's a major accomplishment in his book. "After you get the caffeine fix, you wanna do your e-mail and stuff? Willow would probably like to hear from you."

"Sounds fine." Voice conveying no enthusiasm whatsoever, he leaves for the kitchen.

Cordelia looks at Gunn who shrugs in a non-committal fashion. Glances at Wesley who manages to be engrossed in his latest big book of bad things and is of no help at all. Sighs and follows in Xander's footsteps.

Sees him watching the coffeepot drip, comes up behind him with quick steps that tap across the linoleum. "What happened?" Quiet, not much above a whisper.

He looks at her, still out of sorts from the emotional punches of last night and the oddly non-confrontational encounter in the lobby just now. Not even sure what she's talking about. "When?"

"Xander, did he hit you again?" Slim fingers tipped in magenta grabbing at the hem of the t-shirt, pulling it up, eyes scanning his pale skin for marks of any kind.

"Huh? No." He allows her to check his back, tugs the shirt away from her gently and smoothes it down, looks back to the coffee pot.

"Then why are you mopey-guy?" There's nothing but honest concern on her face, and he's so surprised that she knows nothing. If Angel hasn't said anything, then surely Wesley would have told them both, warned them about Xander's nasty habit in case they were next on the menu. Too close to the thoughts he has now and then, and he pulls his mind away from that picture.

"Just mood swings, I guess." Grabs a mug from the sink, waits anxiously for the coffee to finish.

Cordelia's having none of the avoidance, though, stubborn as ever. "Why am I not buying that excuse?"

"I'm just feeling down, Cordy. Don't worry about it." It's because she cares for him, he knows that's why she nags. Can't be satisfied with half answers and maybes, she always pokes and prods until she's sure she's seen every side. So much of a change to see her applying that need to know everything to the welfare of other people now in a straightforward and unashamed manner. Cordelia without the masks of high school.

"Don't ask me not to care about you. You wanna talk about it? Are you starting to think about the whole being dead thing? You could come over and talk to Dennis about it." Hand on his arm, sliding down to grab at his fingers in a warm little squeeze, and he laughs. It hurts to see her love him and know he doesn't deserve all the trust she's laying out.

"Maybe I will, but not today." Swings the hand she's holding, acknowledges the contact, and she gives him a hint of a smile.

"Well, yeah, the sun and stuff."

"Right."

Cordelia eyes him once more, takes in the vacant look in his eyes. She wants to grill him, ask him all the questions she can think of and probably a hundred more that will pop up along the way, but she's afraid he might cry or possibly have another psychotic break if she pushes too hard right now. So instead she asks, "You want me to leave you alone?"

"Please." Complete gratitude evident in his voice and the way he accepts her hug, kisses the top of her head.

"If you start acting like Angel, I might get a new job." Mumbled against his shoulder, reluctant to step away. The coolness of his body doesn't shock her like she thought it would. "Call the visions in, because I can't take all this moroseness."

She leaves then, mock-strict reminder to talk to her as soon as he feels ready to since she's the only one here who knows him. Xander waits for her to leave, considers with melancholy that she might have known him once but not anymore. That the only one who does really know him now is the one who hasn't spoken to him at all, the one he managed to alienate with his own selfish needs and usual lack of thought. Pours himself a cup of coffee that he doesn't really want and sits at the table in the kitchen. Wraps his hands around the mug, feels the heat seeping into his skin. Works himself up to the verge of tears again, wondering how he's going to survive forever living here with Angel when he won't even talk to him.

He hears Cordelia and Wesley bicker, a vague murmur of argument between them as they leave the hotel, and a minute or two later Angel appears in the kitchen. Sits at the table and looks at his hands.

Xander breaks the silence. "Did you send them out?"

"No, they went for dinner." Angel's head still down, looking at the old scarred tabletop, fingers brushing it absently.

"You rethink the beating?" Bites his lip after he asks, and some part of him wants the answer to be yes, wants his punishment to be defined by some finite period of time, the length and effort it will take Angel to beat him senseless and for him to heal, and when it ends he'll be free from recrimination and guilt by virtue of the pain.

Angel's head snaps up at Xander's question, and he sees him startle just a little. "Are you asking me to hit you?"

Jagged sigh, because he isn't really. He's not even sure what to do, how to wrap his mind around his actions and their consequences. Admits to himself he never allowed the thought of getting caught to manifest beyond a few terrified thrills that he buried somewhat deeper every time he came back to Angel and no questions were asked. "I'm not asking for anything."

"Good, because I want to ask you something." Angel studies Xander's face, sees the fear roll over his features at the limitless possibilities that statement encompasses.

Xander takes a sip of coffee that he can't even taste to cover. //ask me to leave, get out, ask me to never come near him again// "Great."

"Do you still want to go out on cases with us?" Fear replaced by surprise and then cautious hope. Angel notes his own sense of relief that Xander's even sitting here having this conversation with him. He was unsure of what the reaction would be in the aftermath. Emotionally draining night for them both, and it forced Angel to make some decisions about himself and the snug little kingdom he's been trying to rebuild lately. He wonders what decisions Xander may have made, if the boy remembers the dreams that he cried out from for most of the morning.

"What do you mean?" Coffee cup back on the table, and the first real eye contact for what feels like forever.

"Do you want to fight with us?" Offering this up as a gift, a peace offering between them, hoping Xander will see it for what it is - a bridge between what Angel can give and the things that Xander needs.

"Is this a ploy to kill me?" Hurt at the suggestion, but Angel tries to cover it.

"I'm not that subtle."

"I wouldn't call that subtle, but whatever." Looks back down at the table, afraid to show the enthusiasm he has for the suggestion. Awkward and not certain how to behave.

"Do you or not?" Angel wills him to say yes, accept the chance for them to work things out.

"Yes, of course I do. Does the vampy-kung fu come naturally? I haven't been in a fight since I left Sunnydale." Corner of his mouth quirked up in a ghost of a grin, half turned eyes peering through a tangle of dark curls, and Angel has to quell the urge to smile back, reach out and push the hair away.

"No, you'll have to learn to fight. We can start sparring tomorrow." Angel toys with Xander's choice of words //since I left Sunnydale//. Not "since I was turned" or "since I've been with you" distance there, and subconscious worldview embedded within. Also sees uncertainty in Xander's baffled look.

"You're gonna teach me to fight?" First word emphasized to stress the shock that it's not Gunn or even Wesley who'll put him through the motions.

"Yes." Hurt that his olive branch is so surprising, Angel can't force himself to say the rest //they can't teach you what I can, how to fight dirty and win at all costs//

"Why?" Probing, Xander wants more, to hear that maybe he's not forgiven, but still wanted in some fashion, that the glossing over of his crimes means returning to some semblance of a relationship not only about staying undead and on their feet.

"Who else is going to teach you?" No answers to give, his pain still blooming in his chest, Angel gave as much as he could when he offered this much, kept the secret between he, Xander and Wesley. Can't stay and watch Xander plead silently for comfort and reassurance. Rises to his feet and leaves the kitchen before Xander can say anything else. Feels horrible for it, and here he's lost. Taking the stairs to his floor by twos, he tries to draw up the anger, to hold on to himself as the injured party in this, but his desire to nurture has taken such firm root, the attempt to remember self only makes him feel worse.

Xander follows Angel closely with his eyes, sees the way his back fills the doorframe, sees the rolling motions of heel to toe footsteps. Wants to call out, ask him to stay and maybe have a cup of coffee, or nothing, just quiet and sitting, but his voice is nowhere to be found, and after ten minutes or so, he also leaves the kitchen. Takes the elevator and makes his way to the room Angel set aside for the television // What? You're getting cable? Xander is the favored child!// Cordelia's mock exclamation in his mind as he sits and zaps the box into life. Tries to drown out his thoughts with flickering color and boisterous, candy music. Not concentrating on the screen, attempting to ground himself with memories of other places and people, one of whom was him. The him of two years ago watching videos with Oz and Willow, the odor of hair die making him light-headed enough to not care that they were in love and he wasn't. The him of a few months ago explaining to Anya why the microwave caught on fire, and that aluminum forks will do that every time. The him of seven years ago who laughed at vampire movies and thought The Mummy was much scarier. So engrossed in his happy places, he doesn't sense Angel until he's preparing to sit next to him on the couch. Two mugs in his hand. Passes one to Xander as he sits, brings the other to his lips as Xander downs the blood in his own.

Angel motions to the television. "Videos?" Nod of his head, and Angel screws up his face when Marilyn Manson comes on the screen, tilts his head to the side and bites one corner of his lip.

"Yeah," Xander responds, has to avert his face, can't keep his eyes trained on Angel attempting to relate, even now. Second time in an hour, and Xander's tears pop out and begin to roll down his cheeks before he's even to the good part. The part where Angel trusts him with his life.His continued existence on this planet, trusts Xander enough to let him watch his back. And, really, that's just too much. The thought he's been staving off with his better times memories: how unworthy he is and will always be. Can't imagine if the situations were reversed that he would want Angel at his side when death's in the offering, not so close to betrayal of everything that's been between them. That's when it occurs to Xander that the situations have been reversed. Almost exactly opposite. Xander thinks of hell. He thinks of all the cruel words and icy glares he had for the man sitting next to him now, the man reaching his hand out to brush a tear from Xander's neck before it tumbles into the collar of his shirt. And he wants to tell him how his entire body is siezed up with the sorrow he feels for his hatefulness and his callousness, for the omission that ruined Buffy's life and meant so much more than tears for Angel. Knows there are no words for this and even if there were, that he's not worthy to express them. The pain is all he has, and he wants to keep it for himself.

=end=


	6. Chapter VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander trains, Angel thinks too much, and Gunn has knowledge.

Angel looks over at Xander singing along with some asinine song on the radio about stealing sunshine, took him out to roust some information, Xander's quips making him laugh as he beat the needed facts out of his target. Hopes Cordelia picked up his favorite jacket from the cleaners, and they were able to get the Mrlw blood out of the lining.

Xander the automatic response of singing with whatever music hits his ear not registering, absorbed in his thoughts, like most of the time in the last couple weeks. Fixated on analyzing himself and his relations with Angel. He's come to see their interaction on two levels: the innate and the conscious. He listens to Angel closely enough that he's aware the other man has different names for these levels: demon and soul. The separation not really there in Xander's mind when he reaches for it. When they spar, the better Xander gets, the more their connection flares. He allows the non-thinking portion of his nature to take over, and his mind goes clear; sees the same clarity in Angel's eye as they move through kata after kata without speaking, communicating with every curved line of arm and extended leg. When there's no fighting, rarely completely alone, he thinks about Angel and his personal glitches: walking into the kitchen at three in the morning to find Angel mumbling about washable silk and being out of Woolite, sharing a long night with Cordelia and Wesley drinking beer and playing canasta, Angel asking him to pick up more ginger body wash when he goes to the mall with Cordelia. Senses these moments are when he's getting a glimpse of what Angel would call his soul, what Xander just sees as the guy beneath the Sire portion of the package. The guy he never really knew before, and hearing the way Cordelia tells the tale about the first year or so of life at Angel Investigations, he considers that maybe that guy wasn't there before recently at all. He's not sullen stalker freak, he's not savior of the world, he's becoming Angel, a person Xander likes.

Angel presses to keep Xander busy, his mind occupied, and his body in motion. The more exhausted he is when he sleeps, the fewer screams startle Angel from his own rest. Still sharing a bed, a habit neither of them felt any desire to kick, but contact's limited to bodies fitted together in repose.

Pictures this as yet another chance to get something right, not for himself as much as for Xander, and he says that every time, like a silent mantra, and know's it's not true. As the repairing develops, their relationship changes, never returning to what was between them before Xander's lies were exposed-shining, new and full of possibilities-instead it's a constant step and counter step of learning one another's ways. Angel at first annoyed at having a roommate again after being solitary for most of the last century, sometimes finds himself amused at Xander's odd behavior: that he refuses to stop eating Chef Boyardee, smothering it in blood before he microwaves it, the way he carpets the bathroom floor in towels before he takes a shower so he doesn't have to step on the cool tiles when he gets out, the fact that he keeps Cordelia distracted enough that he's only been hit up for extra money twice in the past month.

Xander's voice drifts to him again, and he can hear the distance in it, flicks his eyes over to see the glassy, blank features denoting deep thought. The look that frightens him more often than not, concerned that Xander's not meditating on the exact placement of a kill-strike on the demon du jour but on a human. Wants to bring Xander back to him, find the words to broach his pride at his childe's embracing of the struggle to do the right thing and what it means to him. Tell him how proud he is that Xander's found a place amongst his reknitting family structure, but he just can't find words that don't sound hollow in his own ears, a way to draw Xander out of his funk, words for the sake of words, so he lets it go instead and concentrates on the traffic.

++

Cordelia is not happy.

She makes sure that Gunn and Wes are well aware of this state of affairs by complaining at length to them. In detail. Loud and long enough that they realize there is no relief unless they pay attention and provide input and suggestions.

"I'm telling you that something is not right with those two. Don't look at me like that, Wesley, I'm not overreacting. Angel is broodier than usual and you remember what happened the last time that happened. There were dead lawyers and unemployment, and I refuse to find another cruddy little hole to move us into again." She's pacing with her arms crossed, back and forth between Gunn on one sofa and Wesley on the other, and they take turns looking up at her and then at each other.

Gunn finally gives up and answers her. "Cordie, it's just a lover's spat. Damn, stop gettin' yourself all in a lather over it." Sits back and kicks his boots up on the table, looks at the newest slime stains. Feels the weight of two pairs of astonished eyes on him and shrugs. "What?"

Cordelia speechless, there's a picture he'd like to keep on file somewhere, but she finally speaks in a tone that's equal parts shock and dismay. "*What* did you say?"

"You know, boyfriend troubles. They'll kiss and make up." Looks at her standing there with her mouth open like some exotic fish and bursts out laughing. "Y'all're supposed to be the vampire experts and you mean to tell me you never clued in?"

Cordelia stamps her foot. "Xander isn't gay!"

Gunn just grins at her. "How the hell do you know?"

"How do you think I know? The old fashioned way." Toss of her head, and there's an oddly sweet mixture of bragging and shyness in her manner.

He puts his hands up in the air, "I rest my case."

Loud braying laughter from Wesley, completely out of the normal for him, and Cordelia rounds to shoot daggers his way. He ignores her, grabs the glasses off his face and leans way back in to sofa, still snickering.

"You turned Wes gay, too," Gunn continues, gesturing at the other man, whose laughter cuts off abruptly. He stuffs his glasses back on his face, nearly poking his own eye in the process and frowns.

"Your jokes are no longer funny, Charles."

"Gotta stick up his tight ass, too."

"Shut up both of you! Xander is not gay, and wait, neither is Angel." On the verge of tears, and oh, she hates that feeling, being hit with the unknown, the knowledge that someone else possesses which should have been hers first.

Gunn's unaware of the crisis, he sees this as prime teasing opportunity and just keeps on rolling. "Didn't you and Angel have a few dates back in Sunnydale?"

Xander and Angel come in on that last remark, jackets over their arms. Xander's voice is pleasant as he says, "Cordie and Angel? She wishes."

Gunn turns, spots Xander over his shoulder. "Speak of the she-devil."

"Huh? Do I *look* like a female to you?" Spreads his arms, and Gunn, Wesley and Cordelia take in the wardrobe, leather and skin tight shimmer of lycra.

"Check out how GQ they are."

Wesley hides a grin but Cordelia gives a strangled little squeal and hustles out of the room, heels clicking across the wood and fading down the hallway. Xander catches the trailing scent of her anxiety and looks to the rest of them.

"Did I miss the part where this all makes sense?"

"Cordelia just got the low-down on your love that dare not speak its name."

Angel takes a step forward, grabs Xander's arm and squeezes, warning and grounding in one move. Xander feels it but doesn't acknowledge. "Oh fuck. I doubt you mean my love of Sailor Moon."

"Hell no, Junior. I mean you and your pops." Angel drops a look on Gunn, who's having far too much fun with this to let it get to him. Gives Angel a tooth-filled smile and turns back to Xander.

Angel clears his throat, drops Xander's arm now that he's sure there's not going to be anything physical happening, says in an overly exuberant voice, "So, any visions lately?"

Gunn chuckles. "Hell yeah, I think Cordelia's got herself a whole mess of visions right about now."

Xander tosses his jacket to the floor, takes a boxer's stance facing Gunn. "You wanna rumble, Charlie?"

"I'll take your punk ass down." Gunn up and circling him, both of them grinning while Angel and Wesley look on in a mixture of confusion and amusement. Banter flows, but Angel notes that Xander's been paying attention during his sparring lessons and carries himself in a loosely held defensive form. Gunn does the same, testing the new boy while they act like fools.

"So, you pick up on the 'special' vibe because you wanna get a little of this for yourself?" Xander smiles, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth. Playing but taking note of the opponent's moves, the way he carries his body.

"You're a little dead for my type, son."

"Come on man, once you go vamp, you'll never go back." Easy laughter, and Angel looks down to see Wesley watching him with a look of concern.

He can practically see the wheels in Wesley's mind clicking over, wants to assure him that there's no need to be spending his energies on worrying about souls and curses. A few moments of camaraderie, careless bonding, won't budge the weight of guilt that either of them carries, and Wesley more than most should be aware of how Angel holds himself apart. He also doubts that Xander's soul can be lost to begin with.

Wesley's eyes flicker over the smile hovering over Angel's features at Gunn and Xander's antics. Doesn't hear denial filling the air or even an attempt at explanation. Takes that for what it is: acknowledgement that Angel's role in Xander's life is not simply teacher and friend. Still not firm on who Angel is now, how much of him is the man he came to love as a friend and champion for what's right, and how much of the wild, obsessive individual is left over from his dealings with Darla. Doubts Angel would put his soul in jeopardy, but at the same times doesn't trust his own judgment in the matter. Decides that now isn't the time, and turns away from the men in the room to find Cordelia.

Angel watches him go, pained, he wants to follow and explain, but knows there's no way he can. The lie Wesley keeps heavy on him, and his request to keep it secret more so. Wesley has his own problems, and Angel knows he's not over the firing or Angel's horning back in on the group dynamic the three of them had developed while he was rampaging after his women. Angel sighs looking down the hall after Wesley and realizes the room is silent, turns his head and sees Gunn and Xander staring at him.

"You OK, man?" Gunn is shoulder to shoulder with Xander and both are eyeing him with concern. Knows that Xander was the one who dropped the horseplay when he picked up on the change. Possibly also aware of Wesley's fears along with Angel's

Tries to lighten the mood, bring back some of the easy repartee that was present only minutes ago. "Yeah. What happened to the fight, I thought I might see some bloodshed."

Gunn makes a dismissive gesture, shoves Xander amiably with his shoulder. "Nah, we get enough of that 'round here."

"Angel." Xander starts to ask questions that Angel doesn't want to discuss. Not now, for sure, and possibly not at all. Denial, it's a way of life, comfortable to fall into and easy enough to remain there until something big and ugly tumbles in and forces you out.

"I think I'm just hungry."

"That's my cue to go after Cordelia and Wes. I'll roust them out, get Cordelia drunk and make sure she doesn't turn anyone else gay tonight. Later, Junior. Bye, Big Guy."

"Bye, Charlie." Slipping of skin on skin that passes for a handshake nowadays, and Gunn trots off to round up the rest of the crew.

"Tomorrow, Gunn." Angel calls after him and waits for the door to click shut.

Xander's concern shows in his voice. "You think you need to go after Wes?" Just getting things with Gunn and Wesley into a pattern that they can all be comfortable with, and it's apparent tonight that Wesley hasn't been as in sync to the efforts as Xander thought he was. He knows that Wes has been polite, and compared to his behavior in Sunnydale he's been positively outgoing, but he also knows that there's always going to be something there that waits for Xander to fall from his tentatively restored perch of grace. Not in a malicious way, but in the way of the wary, the ones who hope to be wrong but know that they won't be when they prepare for the worst case scenario.

"No, Gunn will take care of it. He's a lot more sensitive than he lets on, and he and Wesley are close." Angel drops his jacket onto the chair with a sigh. Triple play of weariness, hunger, tension getting to him at once, and he wishes for a block of absolute nothingness to slip into.

"How about the eating, lie to get rid of the kids?" Xander wanting to hear more than just the answer to the obvious question, wanting to know if Angel is seeking time alone, or time alone with *him,* time not spent teaching and learning or drifting off to sleep.

"No, I really am hungry." Swallows up his disappointment in Angel's answer and follows him out to the kitchen.

He watches Angel pull out a bag for himself before turning to Xander, who holds up two fingers. Three bags pierced and set in the microwave, cups ready for the warmed fluid before the bell rings. Xander takes the fuller cup and brings it to his mouth, disgust popping up before he can mask it. Angel watches him closely over the rim of his own mug. Sips, considers a minute, tells him "It gets easier."

"What does?" Xander gulps his down, concentrates on the heat, the pleasure it brings and ignores the gnawing that isn't even touched by the long dead bovine fluid.

"Forcing yourself to drink from a container." It's a lie, they both know it, but Angel can't tell him the truth, that the longing is never tempered and flares brightly at times, almost to the point of madness.

=======

In bed, like every night, together. Angel on his back, one leg cocked to the side. Xander facing him with his arm wrapped around Angel's stomach, his mouth inches from Angel's ear. Neither of the them sleeping, and both aware of it. Xander stirs slightly, his fingers creeping up in what could be a natural shift of position.

Xander's been on this edge more than once recently, wanting to so badly to just reach fingers out and touch and fondle without reservation. Blanket himself in the need he can draw from Angel and own that, that time when the world stops and all Angel's attention is on him alone. When Cordelia or Gunn or Wesley won't invade Angel's line of sight or thoughts, and Xander can pretend the secret was always just that, a secret. No distance, and the budding thing Xander thought was growing wasn't crushed by his own stupidity. Decides now's the time to seize his chance, the groundwork done by others. Draws breath to speak, words dropping directly into the shell of Angel's ear. "Do you think, since we have the rep, maybe we can earn it?" Hand shooting up to rub the rough heel of his palm on Angel's nipple. Angel's answer silent, in the air around them, causing a rise in the sharpness of Xander's scent as well. His legs spread further apart as Xander wedges one of his own between, thigh brushing along the bottom of up-drawn balls. Angel drops his eyes closed when deft fingers slide along the straining vein on the underside of his shaft.

Flutter open again when air is displaced near his mouth, Xander's face hovering over his own, "Can I?" parts his lips in invitation, and the caresses end, all sensation and thought focused on the meeting of lips and tongues, fingers twined in hair and suppressed moans. Xander's face slips, teeth pricking Angel's tongue, drawing blood from his lips, and his own demon answers. Breaking apart to fall headlong into frenzy, no release or seeking of it for too long for this to be anything but brutal and to the point.

Xander flipped roughly onto his stomach, barely managing to get to his knees before Angel's weight is pressed against him, heavy and molded along every line as he draws him upright. Arm across Xander's chest and his head rolls naturally to the side to bare his neck, the rounded expanse of muscle where it joins his shoulder. Angel's cock insistent, rubbing in the cleft of Xander's ass as he brings his own wrist up, opens a slit and lets the blood flow into his palm. Pulls away only long enough to slick himself with the palmful of crimson as it mixes with the droplets of precome, and he presses forward. One hand on Xander's shoulder, the other gripping the base of his cock, and he watches the blood covered length as it slips into the tight ring of muscle.

Too long apart, too much blood already in the air, and with a groan from them both he presses himself home. Jerks Xander roughly against him, holds him there with fingers splayed across hipbone on one side and thigh on the other. Xander's hands slide down to cover Angel's, and he pushes back into each thrust. His own cock aching, drooling strands of cool threads onto his legs, and he urges Angel's hand over, folds it around himself, keeps his own there to guide the strokes.

Growling vibrations against Xander's back as Angel's tempo increases, and it makes his hips buck, his hand jerk and lose the rhythm. Angel's never falters, but his grip loosens until there's barely any touch beyond a light whispering stroke. Xander whimpers, rolls his head on the other man's shoulder, strains for the friction that Angel denies him. Gasps when the hand on his cock tightens and fangs pierce his skin, feels the blood flow from his neck into Angel's mouth. Angel's already bleeding wrist pressed to his mouth, and Xander groans out loud as he grabs it with both hands and opens wide, bites down hard, tongue working to bring in a mouthful of the rich fluid. Climax rolls through him with the violence of a storm, leaving him writhing and bucking helplessly as Angel strokes him, pumps inside and comes himself with a shout, tearing his teeth from Xander's shoulder and his wrist from his mouth as they fall forward onto the bed.

Laying there together, quivering on the wet sheets, slow line of cooling redness trailing over Xander's shoulder to drip and spread on the cotton sheets. Xander's mouth finds Angel's hand, the one covered in his own blood, and he licks at it, tingle of Sire on his tongue as it works to capture each drop, wet and slippery between the creases, drawing the fingers into his mouth to suckle. Angel slipping his weight off to the slide, rolling easily and pulling Xander over with him so they're spooned and still joined. His tongue lapping at the edges of the jagged tear he made in his boy's skin and muscle, helping to hurry along the healing.

Simple comfort of limb on limb despite the damp sheets and stickiness that covers them, and Xander begins to drift. Body sated, hunger splintered beneath the languor of the afterglow, and he wants to find the blackness and float there. Angel's voice catches him on the edge, tugs him back.

"Xander." Waits for his sleepy grunt of acknowledgment before continuing. "If you want this, all of it, the sex and intimacy, I have to know that you're not going to run out and fuck girls in alleys. There are rules we never went over before, because I thought the sex would end, that it would be temporary."

Xander half turns in the crook of Angel's shoulder, opens his eye just enough to peek out of the lashes. Summons up the energy to fling a little sarcasm. "Temporary. You were using me for sex? I'm hurt. It's not like I have opportunities elsewhere."

"Opportunities or not, I don't share my bed with many, and like this rarely. We're talking about one of the rules I told you about in the beginning."

"You mean it's a Sire/childe thing." Stifles a yawn. Angel resists the urge to smack the boy in his head, make sure he's paying attention. He's not just explaining the rules of the game, he's drawing the guidelines for *their* relationship. Personal choice in some cases, polished here and there with the glossy luster of tradition, but it's much easier to make it part of the old ways than it is to explain his own uncertain emotions about the whole arrangement, about how he never thought it would go this far, or that he would even want it, want this, blood letting and wild sex, and caresses to go after.

"Yes, and in normal families one of the marks of a true childe, time in his Sire's bed, and fed from his body, and my demon can't stand the idea of you with another while you're with me." Someone else touching what belongs to him alone, whispering secret words of longing, stealing Xander away before he's ready to forgo his claim, jealousy always his failing, always sexual, never about love, and he knows this is a spark of the before time, not just the demon, Liam. Shuts that out when it occurs to him, doesn't want this to be about human need and failings.

"Your demon, huh?" He can *feel* Xander's smirk where his mouth is pressed against Angel's bicep, and hides his own.

"Don't press your luck."

Snort of laughter. "Don't worry, I don't want you to get all emotional and make me puke."

"No flowers in the morning then?" Reaches for the telephone. "Let me cancel the order."

"You're scaring me."

Smiles for them both, stretch and realignment of limbs, then sleeps finally ashes over Xander. Angel lies awake a while longer, watches the light grow around the curtains at the window, and wonders if things are ever going to be easy between them. If they are ever going to get to a place where it's not fists or jokes between them, when they can speak freely without hesitation, that place he was grasping for before their relationship shifted. Doesn't think he should really want that, want something beyond slaking the thirst for a body in his bed and someone in his life who won't fade and die with the passing years. Thinks about his promised humanity and what that might mean for Xander. Lets that thought nip at his heels all the way to the blackness of unconsciousness.

=====

Xander comes downstairs the next day, late afternoon shadows laying slanted across the hardwood floors. Cordelia there alone, her back to him as he approaches.

"Cordy."

She startles a little, throws him a look that clearly states he's not to mention that he saw her rattled. Looks back away again, finding something incredibly interesting in the pile of papers that cover her desk. "Don't start."

He hops up on the counter, not going anywhere until they talk this out. "You don't want to hear my side of the story?"

Small noise of disgust and she tells him, "No, I'm not ready for the lurid details. I talked to Gunn and Wes last night, they said there will be no soul lossage, so I will cope."

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." Knows that this is the bone of contention here, keeping secrets from her that others were privy to. She's been nothing but open to him, and to find out that he's been less so with her, no matter the subject matter, plucks at the tender places in her. Despite the strength she displays every day, Xander knows better than most that under it all she is human, fragile and utterly breakable.

"I know. I just never thought about it." Turns large, shadowed eyes to him, and he wonders what other things she's keeping to herself. The visions are painful, he knows from seeing them take her out, and when she thinks no one else is watching he sees her cry. Not from the physical pain most times. From the other hurt, the way the world around them is so bent on destroying everything and making it suffer in the process. She catches herself now, drops the mask into place and is all business as she says, "Whatever. Wes says it's normal. Who am I to judge your lifestyle?"

"My friend who I love." That gets a reaction from her, a softening in the lines of her shoulders, and they drop a little as she lets the admission soothe raw nerves and uncertainties. Gives her the strength to turn to him with a half smile.

"Xander, get a grip. Do you want to hear all about my sex life?"

He fakes a dramatic shudder, rolls his head back and stares at the ceiling. Whines, "Do I have to?"

"See? Willow called."

Hops off the counter now, "Yeah? And what did she say?" Stands behind her and snoops over her shoulder until she smacks his arm lightly, pushes her chair back.

"For you to call her, duh."

"Nothing hellmouthy?" Moment of worry there despite Cordelia's lack of concern.

"Oh, you mean like one of her friends becoming a vampire with a soul and having a gay lover who is also her best friend's ex boyfriend?" Looks over her shoulder at him and sticks out her tongue.

"Shut up. I'll call after I have some coffee." Ambles out to the kitchen, looks at the coffeepot and heads to the fridge instead. Heats a bag and drinks it without bothering to mess a cup, gulping it down quickly and tossing it into the trash. Only then pouring the coffee he still doesn't really want and can't taste anyway, warms his hands with it and goes back out to talk with Cordelia, put off the phone call that he's sure brings nothing but more complications.

She leaves him soon enough, and there's no one in the hotel to distract himself with any longer. Picks up the phone and dials Willow's number, listens to the crackle and hollowing ringing before it's picked up and a low hesitant voice says, "Hello?"

"Tara? Hey, it's Xander."

"I know your voice, how are you?"

"Good. Better than you would expect. How're things?"

"You want to speak to Willow?"

"Trying to get off the phone?"

"No, uh I just... stop teasing me. Here's Willow."

"Xander? Hey!"

"Hey Wills."

"You haven't called in more than a week."

"I know, I'm evil, what can I say?"

"Xander."

"Yeah yeah, so, what's up in the Dale?"

"Well, actually, something's happened."

"What kind of something?"

"Something not so good. I don't know how to tell you this. Anya ran away."

"What do you mean?"

"One day she was here, the next she wasn't, her stuff's gone and no one knows where she is. She didn't leave a note or anything."

"I thought you guys did that glamour thing, told them I had a job in Tulsa or some shit."

"We did! It just didn't seem to work on her very well from the beginning. She would say...things."

"What kind of things, Willow? Do you have any idea how hard it is to get facts from you?"

"You don't have to be mean. She would say that you hadn't called, and how weird that was, and then she started crying sometimes. I don't know. Maybe it didn't work on her at all. I'm so sorry. I didn't know this would happen."

"It's not your fault, Wills. I should have come home by now."

"You need to take your time. Do it when you feel comfortable with yourself."

"Tall order...so, what about Buffy and Dawn?"

"They're fine. No more Glory happenings. Trying to cope. I think that might be why they weren't resistant to the spell. Dawn asked if I'd talked to you the other day, but I don't think they suspect."

The conversation turns over to the mundane details of spells and castings, demon slaying and Cordelia's latest snarky remarks. Xander lets her voice fade in and out, makes appropriate noises in the lulls while his mind turns over and over on the Anya situation.

Left. The spell never took, and it was a long shot anyway. Despite his love for Wills, he readily acknowledges that her spells are quirky at best, and it seemed iffy to cast something like that on an ex-demon. Maybe she had some residual resistance to it, or maybe - and he hates to think this but admits that it might be the truth - the pain of him abandoning her was too huge to be smoothed over. Another mark in his guilt column, and when he says goodbye to Willow, promises to keep up on the email more often, lets the phone drop with a loud thunk into the cradle.

He never chose this fate, has absolutely no memory of anything to do with his turning. He only gets to deal with the fall-out, and part of that was walking away from things that were gone to him anyway. Regular life, such as it might have been for him, gone in an instant. Wills understood. Tara, too, possibly better than anyone, something otherworldly, old and wise about her whenever she really lets you *see* her, and Xander kind of grooves on that. It reminds him that there are bigger things happening than he will ever know about, and puts his own fuck-ups in some kind of perspective. Like now, when he's missing things that he has no business even thinking about, because they're gone to him forever, like sunburns, the glittering of noon on waves at the beach, christenings and big church weddings. Not that he couldn't have tried, at least made the effort to go home and explain himself to Anya, maybe leave the details about Angel out, but let her know that it wasn't her, that he loved her. That he still loves her.

Sound of the door interrupts his thoughts, Angel coming in with Wesley and Gunn right behind, and there's other things to think about for the moment. Xander loses himself in the activity, wills his mind to file it away for later.

=====

Three in the morning, Angel on his side and Xander on his stomach beside him, head pillowed on his arms. He's been quiet and distracted all night, and even now when they're in bed his mind somewhere else.

Angel breaks the silence. "You talked to Willow tonight?" Knows he did, Cordelia stuck a note for Angel on one of those eye searing lime-green post it notes to the outside of the front door so he would know before he came in.

"Yeah." Xander switches positions, leans the other side of his face against his arms so he isn't looking away from Angel, although he keeps his eyes down.

"Did something happen?" Puts his hand on the small of Xander's back, knot of tight muscles there evidence of the stress despite his attempts to hide it. Angel's fingers skim up the line of his spine, and back down to lie wide, flat and still in the space where they started.

"Anya left." He tries to relax into the touch but the thoughts of past life and future eternity stretch out too far for him to stop thinking about it and enjoy the rare pre-mating caress.

"Hm." Noncommittal, letting Xander know that he's listening but isn't going to offer any kind of opinion. Doesn't want to let anything he has to say on the matter color the way Xander himself is going to react to the news, despite knowing that he could do it if he was so inclined. Mastery of the tools of manipulation, something you never forget, hundreds years of practicing it, and he knows how a simple look or tone of voice can sway opinion. Determined to leave that out of the way they deal with each other as much as he can on a conscious level.

"It's better this way, maybe she can have a normal life. Find someone who can make her happy, with a boat and a dog, who wants kids and doesn't live on the mouth of Hell." Sounds like he's trying to make this same argument to himself more than Angel, and it's not like there was a choice involved any longer. It's not until Anya is gone that Xander realizes with an odd finality that he will never grow old, never be a father. There's no Little League or dance recitals in his future, no turns at midnight bottles so Anya can rest, no little voices piping shrill calls of 'Daddy' and meaning him. Things he never realized he ever thought about until tonight, things he always just assumed would be there when he was ready for it, sometime in the fuzzy place known as 'then.' Only there is no 'then' for him anymore, and he's not sure of the balance sheet, and what to write down on the other side now, how to even it out with a rationalization.

"You don't want those things?"

"I did a couple months ago." Shrug of his shoulders, and Xander finds himself on the verge of tears.

Angel's hand moves again, rubbing in a soothing pattern , pressure easing the furled muscles in his back as he asks Xander, "Do you miss everyone else?" Keeps his eyes focused on his hand as he rubs, shielding his thoughts in case this is the moment the boy decides to turn and look. He knows that the answer is yes, it's only normal for him to miss the familiar people who love him and make sure he knows it. Unlike here, where Cordelia maintains an almost constant facade of friendly-but-untouchableness, Angel knows that Willow at least has always been open in her affection. Anya was nothing *but* physical, to hear Cordelia tell it, and he knows that it must have been more than that, that the translation comes filtered through two sets of female interpretations regarding a woman outside of their inner core who is intimately involved with the lone, and well-protected, male. The truth of it lies in the stillness that pervades Xander tonight, and his dawning awareness at last of what his life has become.

"I miss more than my friends." Tightening of his back again despite Angel's ministrations, and he knows that Xander has made some of the longer reaching connections, the ones he himself has been forced to confront only recently in his own attempts to take stock of where he is in the world.

"It will only get worse." Part of the reason he kept himself apart from the humans, kept himself from forming ties, their innate frailty and comparatively insignificant lifespan making it nothing more than pain in the waiting to be close or feel affection for them. Until Sunnydale, until Buffy and the people he let infiltrate his existence, Angel never let himself be drawn to anything he thought he might lose. He knows Xander is thinking this as well, thinking of himself remaining twenty forever while Cordelia and Willow age, change, and die. Mortality is still an issue, made so by the ties of love.

Xander grunts. "This nightly dose of cheer and sunshine brought to you courtesy of Angel, harbinger of doom."

"Would you prefer I lied to you?"

"Sometimes."

Lies back down on the bed and lets Angel rub his back, tries to give himself up to the feeling of the fingers that work his muscles, drag over his skin. Soon enough the contact brings him to the place he wants to be, which is away from the headaches of reality and into the niche where it's only about the feeling of skin on skin, Angel's against his. The push and slide of Angel's hands rocking his body gently as the intentions of his touch move from relaxation to more urgent needs. Xander finds himself pressing his hips into the heavy nap of the cotton sheets, rough against his erection. Feeling the press and moisture of Angel's own hardness against his thigh as he leans to tug on Xander's shoulder, roll him off his belly and onto his side. Wants to pretend that Angel's doing this out of something more that regret over his own actions, regret at giving him these complications in his life, which is the only way Xander is able to have anything that could be called life at all now, knows Angel doesn't see it that way. Face to face, Angel's mouth open just enough for him to see the tip of his tongue pressed against his teeth. Xander leans in, flicks his tongue over those moist lips, darts it inside. Slow movements tonight, no need to rush and tear into each other. Angel's hand threads in the tangled black curls and holds him still, sucks Xander's bottom lip into his mouth, then the top. Xander's fingers stroke and creep over the swell of hip and thigh, between the two of them to trace the pattern of the veins and folds before tugging down, feeling the skin slide. Angel's hiss of pleasure as the head of his cock is exposed and pressed against his own belly by hip and hand. Disappointed murmur when Xander rolls away to reach back into the bedside table replaced with a low sigh of pleasure as newly oiled fingers grasp and rub. And in these seconds, Xander can let himself believe that the man with him truly is his lover as much as Anya ever was, not his care-taker and warden.

Sweet friction, aching burn of need taking its time to build past the point of them both just rolling with it, Angel's fingers slick and exploring. Palm across the head of Xander's cock, pushing down, fingers raking through the tangle of hair at the base. Press and rub on the silky skin under his sac then inside, and Xander just shudders against Angel's chest. Lets Angel nudge a knee between his thighs, press another finger inside of him as he licks and sucks at Angel's mouth, his tongue, his neck. Blunt teeth scrape the skin where it's thinnest, right over the spot where a pulse would jump and throb, and he feels the demon slipping its bonds as Angel's fingers fill him, stretch him.

Growling with need, tension as tight as he can bear it, and he comes close to begging for release. Decides there must be a scent for that fine line of *want* because Angel is sliding his fingers out, catching Xander's leg behind his knee, lifting and spreading him open. Pushing him up higher on the bed, getting the angle just right, and he's inside, familiar burning ache and fullness. Angel tugs on Xander's leg, drops it over his hip, lets Xander control the friction between them with the clenching of his calf. Almost face to face this way, and when he tugs on Xander's hair he can pull his mouth down for a slow, deep, slippery kiss that's full of tongues and sighs. Xander finds the motion he wants, rolling hips that move Angel in and out, brush his own cock in the slick channel between their bodies. Smooth oiled skin not offering much friction but the pre-game has been so long that not much is needed to get him to the edge and let him hang there. Tenses as Angel trails wet, open-mouthed kisses across his cheek to his ear, down to his neck, tongue laving the scar there. Xander shudders at the feeling of suddenly-ridged skin on the underside of his jaw, the scrape of canines on the raised rope of twisted tissue.

Angel bites and rolls at the same time, not onto Xander but onto his own back, pulls Xander over with him. Sprawl of long limbs over his own, one hand tight in glossy black locks, the other spanning his waist, holding him still so he can pump his hips up off the bed in a hard, fast rhythm. Angel feels Xander's teeth, sharp against the rounded muscle of his shoulder, the vibrations in his chest as he growls and moans, checking the urge to bite down even as Angel drinks from him, pounds into him, his own weight pressing his cock into the muscle of Angel's stomach, sliding with every stroke. Takes his mouth away from Xander's throat just long enough to whisper one word, 'yes' before he bites down again and feels Xander echo the action. Hits his climax with a roar, arching them both off the bed. Lets him continue to drink and roll his hips to his own conclusion a new minutes later, a violent orgasm that leaves Xander shaking and spent.

Angel reaches for the coverlet tangled around their feet, dislodging Xander only long enough to pull it up and over still quivering flesh, cocooning them in the damp darkness that's as close to oblivion as they can get. Wrapping arms and legs around each other, now familiar with the places things fit best for comfort, security and rest.

Sometime later, still under the cover, Xander stirs. Sees that Angel's awake, possibly never went to sleep at all. Says, "I think I need to go home."

Angel doesn't let himself react to the alarming panic that rises at those words. Leaving was never part of the bargain, not something he'd planned for, adjusted a mindset to work around. "For good?"

"Do you want me to say yes?" He can feel Xander staring at him, makes himself lie back and close his eyes. Shield again, against interpretations he won't readily admit to himself; that there's ties here beyond the Sire/childer bonds. That he's not willing and possibly not able to let go of Xander right now, maybe not ever, one of two now, not partners, one of two of a species, and there is meaning there Angel has only let himself skirt.

"You have to make your own decisions. If you want to be with me, I'll be right here when you come back." And he will be, right here with his transferred obsession, his overcompensated fixation on making Xander a road to redemption for his loss of Darla. Admits at least to himself that he's aware of channeling himself this way, and wholly unable to stop it. So close to the obliteration of self and the peering into the maw of absence that was his night with Darla, Xander stumbled into something far more than undeath, and Angel knows he's wrong in this, like almost everything else he does.

"Are you telling me you're not the boss of me anymore?" Doesn't need to see Xander's face to realize that he's pleased with the answer, that he's given him a reassurance of his place within Angel's life that will not disappear as the rest of his world has.

"No."

"So, it's one of those if you're childe is really attached, set them free and they'll come back things?"

Carefully constructed reply and now Angel does look at him. Doesn't realize that he's wrinkling his brow as he says, "I see how you altered the words."

"It's a cliché you know? I can't be too careful, don't want you to flip if I think you love me." Xander's careful when he says it, retains his relaxed posture, but he's hurt in some way that Angel wouldn't at least object a tad to his leaving. Suddenly wants to cry and feels petty and ridiculous.

He sighs. "Xander. Go to Sunnydale. I want you to come back. I'm not releasing you or sending you away." Pauses, forces himself to make the admission and watches carefully for a response in his face. "I'll...I'll miss you." With Xander leaving, it's not an option any more to hide the affection he's let himself feel, wants to be sure that there's as much in the open between them as he is capable of declaring. Long trip back to Sunnydale in more than just mileage, and so many pitfalls along the way to distract him, take him away for good. Put him back among the people he knows the best, the ones who aren't afraid to tell him he's needed, he's vital to them. Afraid to rely on the pull of the blood alone to call Xander back to him.

"I'd think you'd want some time to yourself. You know, no television on, read poetry or something."

"Listen to Cordelia nag me and act like she doesn't have the hots for Gunn."

"That too."

Angel thinks with all likelihood that he'll spend the greater part of his days wandering around the hotel and waiting to see if he's made another mistake in judgment. Haunting the TV room, constantly seeking tangible reminders of Xander, and how he does have a place here. In Angel's life, in his bed. Realizes this has all the markings of a situation primed for trouble, but again unable to control what drives him to keep what is his. Darla and now Xander, one lost and another offering the hope of amending it. Angel wonders if he will ever be free of the specter of the first, if it will always cast its shadow on the latter.

=end=


	7. Chapter VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander goes back to Sunnydale.

Ten o'clock on a Friday night, and there's hardly anyone on the streets. Xander parks the rental car and sits, staring at the Magic Box and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He's not looking forward to the whole Buffy confrontation, but some part of him is feeling an urgent need to see Willow, smell her hair, the musky scent of her body, have a full on Wills-Hug, patent pending, and just be reassured that life here is still as he remembers it.

No sense in delaying the inevitable, and they're expecting him since Angel made him call before he left and have them meet him here. Nerves have made him jittery, and he realizes that he's really hungry despite the amount of blood he gorged on before leaving the hotel. Two hours of nervous energy and it's all burned away. Not the best frame of mind to be in and there's not much he can do about it right now.

Climbs out, locks the door behind him, pockets the keys, and heaves a mentally bracing sigh before opening the door. Tingle-ring of the bell above him familiar and he's smiling because it all looks so damn *good* - all the dust and disarray, the old books and the chicken feet in jars on the counter, and especially the hurtling, squealing bundle of warmth and spices that hits him in the chest and grabs on tight.

"WillowHug," he murmurs into her hair, kisses her forehead when she looks up, and he feels really loose, just a few seconds of rightness in the insanity that has become his world. Smiles over her head at Tara, who's watching them both with a tiny grin that speaks volumes of the affection she holds for him as well as Willow.

"Xander, so good to see you. You look well." Giles, coming down from the winding stairs, glasses in his hand and forehead smooth, worry-free for one rare second, genuine pleasure on his face to see the boy again.

The phone rings, and Giles picks it up, Xander listening with half an ear as he gently disengages the clinging arms of Willow who seems determined to become joined to him at the hip until she's reassured that he's really here. He holds her hand, comforting contact, as they walk further into the shop.

"Xander, it's for you." Giles holds out the receiver, the usual serious-Watcher-guy expression back in place. Xander can feel Tara and Willow watching him as he takes the phone, turns away to talk. He knows who it is, but then again, who else *would* it be?

"Hello? Yeah the drive was fine...no, I didn't get a ticket." He can feel them all studiously ignoring the call, and when he peeks back around they've all become interested in various items in the store that they've seen and handled a hundred times already. He pulls himself back to the conversation, hears the undertones of worry in Angel's voice even as he's pretty much berating him for a few dozen little things.

"I know, I left those cds on the counter, but I was in a rush... don't panic, I didn't get anything on the upholstery. You'll get your deposit back." He has to smile - Scourge of Europe, Master Vampire, and Angel sounds like the kind of mom everyone makes fun of, overprotective and worrying himself sick. It's weird but sort of cool in a sheltering kind of way, certainly a new aspect to his life, a parent other than Giles who cares even about the tiniest things.

"Yeah? Ok, tell everyone I said hey. Right. Uh huh, I will. Bye." Finishes up the conversation, turning and saying, "Angel says hi everybody," right at the precise moment that Buffy charges in. Her senses are on overdrive, he can smell it as soon as she hits the room. High ozone-burn of adrenaline that's unlike anyone else's scent in any way at all, fist clenched around a stake, and how stupid was he to forget that she would know right away?

Her face crumples when she sees him, when her Slayer senses confirm in claxon horns of warning, that he's not himself anymore, that he is...other. "Oh my God, Xander... what happened to you?" Break when she says his name and there's tears in her throat, in her eyes. The stake clatters to the floor, the sound loud in the hush of the shop.

Willow steps forward, walks towards her, and Xander sees she puts herself between him and Buffy, deliberate block as she says, "Buffy, no it's OK..." but she's cut off.

"Were you talking to Angel on the phone?" Furrow between the brows as she tries to make some connections that just won't click, or she won't let them come together because it's too much to handle, and Xander feels so sorry for her, even in the midst of all his own problems.

"Uh, yeah. He would have talked to you, but there was a vision, and he had to run. He says hi though." Makes sure to keep his voice low and soothing, try to keep her from getting to a place where no one could stop her if she went off the deep end, and he ends up as more dust on the books. Willow blinks nervously between the two of them, hands twisted together. No one wants to move, to snap the spell that keeps Buffy from losing the tenuous grip she has on the stillness.

But she frowns, and Xander sees Giles take a step forward when she asks, "A vision? Xander, why were you talking to Angel, and why are you a vamp complete with vamp-goth ensemble? Someone needs to do some explaining, I thought you were in Tulsa...wait, that was some kind of Key type thing, wasn't it?" She turns to look at Willow, anger and hurt warring for dominance in her expression and Willow blushes to her hairline, opens and closes her mouth, looks helplessly at Tara and then back to Buffy.

Giles steps in, his own embarrassment evident as he stammers out an explanation. "Buffy, we thought it better, because of the situation..."

"I want to know about the Angel part." She's looking at no one but Xander, and he's looking right back, willing her to see that it's still him in there, and she should know, she above them all should know.

He holds his hands out, gesture of pleading. "He turned me, Buffy. It was so quick, he didn't know what else to do..."

Wash of pure horror over her features turns her ugly and old before his eyes until he blinks and she's just Buffy again, just his friend who is finding out that he died, that everyone has lied to her, that she's on the outside for yet another reason, and he aches for her, pure and complete empathy. But he doesn't know how to make it better.

"No, I can't listen to this. I have to make another sweep and check in on Dawn...and you all lied to me? And Angel, too? Again?" She whirls, grabs the stake from the floor and is out the door, gone in a flash of tears and anger and pain that Xander thinks he will be able to smell for hours. Like it drifted into his skin, stained him.

Willow turns to him, eyes made enormous by anxiety and unshed tears. "She still talks to Angel?"

"I got no clue what she's talking about, Wills, but I must say, that went even worse than I ever imagined it could." He's out of his element again, suddenly aware that this is not his place anymore. He's smelling things in there that make his demon squirm, potions and herbs and magic, thick and oily. His skin is creeping and his heart aches, and he wants nothing more to make it all go away.

"I like your new clothes, Xander." Tara's whimsical grin, flutter of her hand to indicate shirt, pants, boots, and he knows it's truth, but also meant to reassure him in a moment of disaster.

Giles asks "Did Angel say what Cordelia's vision pertained to?" Dragging them off the topic at hand and back to the usual comfort of death, destruction and mayhem on a global scale.

Xander shrugs, grins a little sheepishly. "No, he was pretty much just ragging me for leaving stuff on the floor and worried that I spilled Coke on the seats of the rental car."

Willow makes a noise of irritation, habits are so easy to fall back on. "You still leave your underwear all over the place? Xander you'll never grow up."

"Actually, I don't wear any, it was socks and a pair of pants he found wadded behind the toilet."

Sigh from Giles as he turns away, glasses off and hand scrubbing at his eyes. "Dear lord, you people just never know when to shut up."

"You share a bathroom? I thought it was all big and vacant." Willow appears genuinely confused, but Tara is looking at Xander with a dawning light of realization on her face. He catches her looking, second of eye contact and she's flushed, high color in spots on her cheeks. For once Xander is glad that he can't blush, because he knows she's got it, that deep insight that runs through her just picked it all up and made the picture clear as daylight.

"Willow, maybe Xander's tired, and wants to go home now." Her voice is soft, and she comes over to take Willow's hand, shyly tangling fingers and hiding them in her skirts.

Willow isn't that easily swayed from the discussion, and Xander marvels at her naivety. "Huh? Yeah, maybe, but I would have my own bathroom, all to myself, not that I mind sharing with you or anything, but if there were twenty bathrooms..."

He interrupts as gently as he can. "Yeah, Tara, I think I'm a little beat. Where am I staying?"

Willow jumps, barely containing her excitement at this further reminder that he's here, and he'll be here for a while, her face is glowing, her words bubbling out. "Oh, at my parent's house. Do you mind? Your apartment...well, we got all your stuff! And since no one's there this month, we thought you might not want to sleep on Giles' couch..."

"Wills, it's fine. Sounds great. I can snoop through all your old stuff." He gives her a goofy grin and watches her drop into mock-serious mode.

"On second thought, I bet Giles' would like some company. Giles, would you mind Xander hanging out with you?" They all chuckle when he stammers out a blatantly unenthusiastic response before he realizes they're having him on again and stops in mid-sentence. Polishes his glasses with the hem of his shirt and clears his throat before speaking up again. "Buffy will come around, Xander. We made a huge mistake not telling her in the beginning, and I daresay we'll all pay for it. Let me talk to her and explain. Give it a few days. I think I can make her understand after a fashion."

Xander doubts very highly that Buffy will be getting the full fledged version of his new unlife with Angel, or that she will understand no matter how he candy-coats it. But he smiles for the sake of the effort Giles is making at convincing himself that reason has a place here, makes accommodatingly encouraging remarks.

"If anyone can, it's you G-man. She needs space, and well, there's the Angel thing. I think I might be pretty pissed if the situations were reversed."

Giles watches them go, Willow clutching Xander's hand with the enthusiasm only she can muster on a regular basis, Tara looking over her shoulder at him before following the other two out into the night. He sighs, knows Tara has the truth of it all, wishes that the others had half her depth of understanding or the wisdom to keep silent when they do actually glean some knowledge of the things that are less than pleasant, those strange oddities that exist but don't conform to the way people draw their lines and live their lives.

Having spent much of his life as a Watcher, with his extensive training and research into the lore and the legends of vampires, Giles is more than aware of what kind of hierarchy exists between Sire and childer. He'd assumed that Angel would act as mentor, considering the ties between he and Xander, the lives they lived and the people who make up their collective group of friends and family. He sees now that he was only fooling himself, painting the nature of the demon with the brush of humanity, and telling himself that the soul would hold sway over every aspect.

No matter what else she might drag from him in what he is sure will be an angry and painful interlude, Giles is absolute on one point. He will not be the one to tell her that Angel has taken on all aspects of the Sire with his newest childe.

\-----

Xander feels like he's falling falling, suddenly catches himself in mid-drop and realizes he's sitting on the Rosenburg's couch, Ron Popeel assuring him that spinach pasta is not just delicious but nutritious and easy to make as well. Takes him a few seconds to figure out why he's here and why the walls are blue instead of red. For some unknown reason, that insignificant detail causes his stomach to turn over and his nerves to dance, on the verge of tears he zaps back to his current life and knows the walls haven't been red for a couple years, and Willow isn't upstairs getting ready to go out on a late patrol with Buffy. Hops off the couch, pulls on his boots, grabs his jacket, and clicks the lock over as he closes the door behind him.

Didn't feel exhausted until he sat down and turned the TV. on. Knows it must've been the four nights/days with barely a wink as Angel showed him physically how much he would be missed. As he ambles along aimlessly, he attempts to draw up the dream that flipped him back to consciousness. Senses the less than pleasant vibe, but can't remember the actual content. Plays over the horror and anguish on Buffy's face in the Magic Box, the knowledge on Tara's, the palpable relief in Willow to see him in one piece and on his feet with her own eyes. Thinks he could have gone after Buffy, followed her out the door and forced her to listen to his side of the story. The lie wasn't the important part in this. Stops to rest on a bench and sees he's carried himself to the park where Anya learned to swing on a swing set; where they had picnics on junk food; where they had al fresco sex in the bushes one copper-tinted Sunday afternoon. Wonders for the ten thousandth or so time where Anya is now. If she'll try to get her powers back, or if she'll try to find someone else to love. Feels the bass thumping from the UCS hang-out across the street through his chest. Tracks the drunken college students stumbling arm in arm or lurching in groups from the door down the street and out of site. Feels the tears dry up, his collar soaked, as he allows heart beats and laughter to break his depressing train of thought. Picks out one girl, halo of golden hair in ringlets around her face, bandana patterned skirt, thick soled shoes, unsteady on her feet, and he considers her chances of making it back to the dorm tonight when her eyes light, and her friends come in sight. Greetings exchanged, and he hears a name, Sarah, screeched out by one of her companions, almost her carbon copy except the hair's straight, and the skirt's paisley. The place is packed and teeming, and he knows what lies inside. His ruination. But at the same time, possibly an escape for a few seconds of pretending this is him, and his life is about neon, stale beer and tonight's pick up. One drink or two, that's not such a huge thing, no big. Three minutes or less, and he's inside ordering, praying to Elvis, since he knows Jesus doesn't listen to vampires, that he can just forget for a while.

**

Three double vodkas //"Eww, Xander, why drink that of all things?" "It all tastes like turpentine to me anyway, why not?"// later, Veronica's telling him all about her psyche final, and her hand's snaking higher up his thigh. She buys his fourth drink, and fingers of doubt are clogging up his mind when he thinks about leaving while the getting's good. Just a little longer, it's not like anyone expects him tonight. Not like Angel can track him from this far, and that sends a shiver of fright as well as shame, but he lets it go. Not like he's gonna fuck her, not his type. Blond, freckles, full mouth, everyone else's type, but not his.

"You wanna go home with me?" Lashes demurely resting on her face, even though her right hand is stroking the inside seam of his pants.

"I don't think that would be such a great idea." Knows she has no clue what she's asking for. Hears the Midwestern vowels and weird slang, or heard it before her heartbeat became his pivot for the duration of their conversation. //if it's not you, someone else will pluck this one//

"Oh, you have a girlfriend?" Hand gone. Chin up-raised and defying him to tell her what a complete dick he truly is.

"No, a boyfriend, since you asked." Two blinks, and a leer that is anything but innocent.

"Maybe we could go to your place then." Fingers on his arm this time, and his burst of laughter calls up her own, and they haw and shake until they have to steady each other with groping hands and braced thighs.

Her face flushed, so close he can see the capillaries in her eyelids, not eye-shadow, just liner, and even in this light the threads of blue stand out in the thin skin.

"I think your eyes are pretty, too." //so stupid, she's begging for it// He lets her kiss him, girly sighs and shy tongue. And he just can't stop himself, something blocking out the wrong here, his limbs flowing through the fluid air, distanced from reality in some way he can't name. Takes the offered hand and walks out to the sidewalk with her. Fucking the last thing on his mind.

**

Tucked in a nook behind the concession stand, facing towards one of the up-teen cemeteries //who would put a park across the street from a graveyard? Only in Sunnydale//, Veronica lies sprawled at his feet. Skirt rucked up, glassy eyes indicting him, gash in the side of her neck trickling thin rivulets of scarlet. //didn't mean to take so much just a taste to take the edge off not all of it nonono//

Xander stares at the lifeless body, terror zinging along his nerve endings like lightning bolts. Fear of Angel's wrath not nearly as great as his fear of the pleasure he took in the act, accident or no. The power rush when her heart stopped beating, the last few mouthfuls of her blood so full of *everything* that made her who she was. He no longer wonders why vampires enjoy the kill. He knows. He also knows she has a family, a roommate, a high school boyfriend who loved her in an adolescent way, hopes and fears and needs.

"What do we have here, then?" Low quiet voice from right at his shoulder and Xander wigs. Jumps a foot, literally, when he hears the voice behind him, swears as much at the vampire reaction as the intrusion. "Holy fuck," words rasped out before he can stop himself.

Spike is there, grinning as he toes the limp body with his battered boot. "I felt you from across the lawn. Didn't know you'd have a lifestyle change. I can smell the soul all over you. They curse you?" Bends down and puts his fingers to the wound in the girls neck, swipes the scant drops of blood from her skin, sucks them into his mouth thoughtfully.

"No, it was a package deal." Xander tries to keep the quiver from his voice, but it's next to impossible. There's something in Spike's smell that makes the hair of his neck stand on end, and the thrill from the feeding is still in control making him tight and wired. Feels the hum now, the Angel buzz, but slightly less keyed up, doesn't know why he didn't feel it before //slightly distracted with that killing thing//

Spike looks up at him. "So I shouldn't expect a psychotic drop in from Angelus any time in the near future?" Pokes half-heartedly at the girl's neck again, but there's not enough to stain his fingers. He licks them anyway, and Xander has a moment of pity that he stomps down on hard. //not so easy to mock him when you're on his side of the cage, is it?//

"No, it was Angel." He watches Spike rise, pat his pockets down looking for cigarettes as he thinks about the reply. Sees the way Spike's eyes narrow and wonders briefly if he's considering the market price for turning Xander in to the Slayer.

Finally Spike lights up, exhales and says, "Sorry to hear about the soul. Tough luck. What's with the all you can suck buffet if your old man's the ponce?"

"He knows." Shrug of his shoulders, but Xander begins to take the measure of the smaller man, watches the way he moves as he ambles from one patch of grass to the next. Remembers he's looking at someone who was trained by Angelus and has had a hundred or so years of practice to hone the skills, and that he's no longer protected by Spike's handy little military remote-control chip.

"Right." Mocking grin again, long drag on the cigarette, and he squints at Xander through the smoke as he exhales. "And you're still walking, so I assume you said that phase was over."

"Why do you care?"

Spike settles himself back against the dirty wall of the stand, closely following the expressions on Xander's face and the body language he hasn't learned to control. "For several reasons. The first is that blackmail is fun, and I want to have all my facts straight."

//blackmail, perfect, oh god i am so screwed// "Fuck, Spike, can't you just leave me the hell alone?" Anger in his voice and he knows he should be a little cooler, give Spike less ammunition, but there's no way he can control it now. His eyes are drawn again and again to the body on the ground.

"Oh, I don't think so. You're gonna do some things for me instead." There's a look in Spike's pale blue eyes, a combination of delight and something darker Xander can't identify. His nostrils flare as he tries to get a bearing on the mood, but he can't pick up anything over the high tang of his own fear.

Asks him, "What kinds of things?" Doesn't really want to know the answer.

Scarred eyebrow arches towards his hairline and he just waits a beat for Xander to think about it. Xander's turn to laugh, humorless and harsh sound in the stillness of the night. "Fuck off, Spike. You know I'm not going to kill people for you."

"I wouldn't expect you would. But your blood might be almost as sweet." Moving again, walking closer, purpose in his stride, and when he gets right up alongside of Xander, the scent is clearly identifiable. Lust, pure and simple, and Xander isn't naive enough to believe he's someone Spike has missed in his bed enough to inspire this level of pheromones. It's the power play that's got him cranked up higher than a kite.

Xander holds himself as placidly as he can, head turning from side to side to track Spike as he circles. Attempts a reasonable approach first, even though he is well aware that it's a weak argument. "You know Angel, don't you Spike? What do you think would happen if I come home with your bites all over me?"

"Ah, still the same old possessive wanker, I see." Stops behind Xander, hands in his pockets and leans in towards the boy, body hovering millimeters from connecting, and he whispers softly in his ear. "What do you think would happen if I told the Watcher about what I just saw?"

"God damn it!" Burst of desperate anger and abject terror, and Xander steps away, puts some distance between them before turning to look at Spike. He hasn't moved a muscle. "Don't I have some power over you because I'm like your uncle or something?"

Spike shakes his head, parody of regret. "No, whelp, you have to fight me to master me, and I don't think that would be the correct choice for you right now. Besides," he pauses as his demon shimmers into plain view and out again, "it's been a while since I got any from a family member."

"You're sick, could we keep the incest comments to a minimum, I just ate." Xander groans at the choice of words and continues, one hand out, finger pointing accusingly. "I could stake you, then you couldn't tell anyone a damned thing."

"You inherited your Sire's sense of humor." Stalks back over, puts himself in that same too-close-for-comfort position again, face to face this time. Xander's throat works as he swallows the bit of moisture left in his mouth, finds himself concentrating not on the blue eyes with the wedge of gold at the center, and instead watches pale pink lips as they form the words, "Think you could take me?"

"No." Whispered admission of defeat.

"If you can't take me, then you have two other options. One, turn yourself in and take it like a man when your little Scooby pals try to stake you, not to mention the unholy ass kicking you'll get from daddy if you escape, or two, you can do what I want and no one's the wiser." Cocks his to the side, an half smile twisting his mouth.

"If Angel finds out you touched me, let alone bit me, I might be better off letting Buffy stake me." Tries to take a step backwards, but Spike's on him before the motion can be completed, one steel hand wrapped around Xander's left bicep. Whips his left up to clutch the back of Xander's skull.

"All the fresh, sweet blood rushing through your veins, and you want to fight me? I know what it's like, boy, the lust after the kill. I can smell it all over you." Holds Xander's head in place and brushes his nose up the side of his neck and across his cheek. "Just because it wasn't your idea doesn't mean you can't enjoy it a bit, eh?" Parts his lips and traces a line from Xander's cheek to the corner of his mouth where dried blood flakes and melts on contact.

The scent of Spike fills Xander's mouth and nose, the hum of the blood call pricking his nerves, and the voice in his mind assaults him //belongs family take him mark him// and the fear of being caught-out mingles with the thrill of the kill. His fingers find the short hair on the back of Spike's head, and he wrenches his mouth under his own. As soon as lips meet, Spike's tongue is in his mouth, delving for vestiges of the recent feed, two low growls reverberate around the pair when Xander's other aspect comes to call and fangs slice lips.

Spike pushes him away, demon visage falling off like water, smearing crimson across his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Come on then, let's go back to my place. No good standing out here like fledges over a corpse waiting for one of your ass-sniffing pals to traipse along." Turns and takes off at a good clip, not even looking behind to make sure Xander's following. Can feel him hesitate before tagging from a slight distance, the scent of the boy strong with lust and anger. Can feel strength there, and would have expected nothing less of a childe of Angel, if he had put two brains cells to contemplating such a thing. Glad it hadn't come to a fight, existing off blood bags and the cast-aways of other, intact, vampires for so long. Doesn't feel like himself at all, but he knows Xander's gonna fix that right up. Maybe he can fuck the soul out him and they can have some real fun.

Xander watches the retreating back and flapping tails of the leather duster for less time than he'll be comfortable accepting later, in the stillness and dark when it's time to think about what this night and his actions in it mean. Right now, however, his conscious mind can only focus on two things, and one is disappearing into the door of its crypt as Xander's feet carry him in Spike's wake, the other is the cold body laying sprawled on the ground next to the spot where he used to eat freezies and ice cream cones with Will and Jesse.

A few short seconds later, and Xander's inside, door clicking shut behind him. Scent heavier in here when they're closed in, and the thrumming need surges deeper, scrapes at the places that make him have to struggle to keep the game face at bay. Call of the blood not as strong as with Angel, but there nonetheless, and growing.

He licks his lips and watches Spike shrug out of his coat and peel off his t-shirt before walking to the edge of his makeshift bed, rumple of blankets tossed over a stained gray mattress.

"So you're in the game then, are you?" Spike's eyes glitter, gold shards in the blue as he eyes Xander, beckons him closer when he nods. "Come on then. Let's see some enthusiasm on your part, nancy boy."

Low growl punctuates the leap as Xander covers the distance between them and flings himself on Spike, impetus knocking them both to the mattress. Spike lies stunned for a moment as Xander's weight pins him and his hands grasp for purchase on hip and shoulder. The boy has the advantage of weight and full fed strength, and he uses them to wedge a knee in the mattress, gain leverage and try to flip Spike to his stomach. Flutter of familiarity for Spike, he almost allows himself to give in, beta no more but the instinct still there, still attached to this scent and the blood he's already tasted. On his belly, one hand in his hair and another tugging at the waist of his jeans, and this is so many nights of his unlife reenacted, bulk not quite right, scent slightly off, but so close he could fall into pretending. He feels the hard evidence of Xander's arousal press into his hip as the boy leans down and sinks fangs into the meatiest part of Spike's shoulder, and that's what snaps the trance.

His elbow snaps back, catches Xander fully in the face, and Spike hisses in pain when his flesh is torn as Xander's teeth pull away. Takes the moment of stillness and turns it to his advantage as he wriggles out from beneath and gets to his knees facing Xander. A line of blood marks his face where Spike's elbow connected, dark furrows tracing the brow ridges.

"I'll be doing the feeding here. And the fucking too for that matter," he says and lashes out, lighting quick movement that knocks Xander off balance and onto his back, rolling into the motion and straddling the boy. Leans up, tongue slipping out to lick away the trail of blood, up the side of his face right to the split skin at his hairline. Feels Xander shudder below him, buck his hips up, turns his face to the side to give better access. Spike trails his open mouth over the wound, tongue probing as his hands slither down the boy's sides, firm flesh over muscle, dip of waist, then popping the button on the leather pants and letting his fingers shimmy into the waistband. Grins, sucks on the lips of the cut when he feels the skin below his hand is hard and wet, arches his back and finds the boy's mouth when his fist closes over the firm cock.

Xander bucks into the cool grip, opens his mouth wide and lets his teeth dig into Spike's lip, blood slicking their tongues as they slide into an open kiss. His hands work at the slim hips above him, tugging at the zipper until it parts and he can push the jeans down, get his hand around Spike's cock and return the stroking that's driving him into a frenzy. Barely has time to get the rhythm before Spike's pulling away, rolling over, pushing Xander's head down. Xander resists the insistent pressure long enough to allow himself the luxury of removing Spike's jeans, pulling them off as the other man raises his hips obligingly, then tosses them away and trails his fingers between thighs white as marble. Spreads that white expanse apart, makes room so he can lie face down, take the hard length into his mouth. Fingers pulling the foreskin back and allowing him to flick his tongue over the slit and gather up the salty drop. Gyrates his own hips down into the rough floor, grinds there as he hears Spike moan, and sucks hard on the head, tongue flat against the underside as he swallows down and down and in.

Long, thin fingers curl in his hair, and Xander growls as Spike thrusts up, begins to fuck his mouth with punishing strokes. Both hands now, cupping his head and holding him there so he can do nothing but open his mouth wider and pump himself against the rough floor. Those hands slipping down suddenly, pulling now instead of pushing, bringing him up the length of Spike's body even as Spike is curling himself into a sitting position, the better to reach his mark, the sooner to bury his fangs in the soft skin on Xander's neck. Shirt shredded in two rough jagged tugs, Spike's mouth high on his shoulder, and Xander shouts when teeth grind against bone. One hand holds his head still, iron grip, as the other reaches down between their bodies, finds the head of Xander's cock and runs fingertips over it.

Growl of warning from Xander as Spike bites deeper, tongue working the wound and forcing the blood out in luke-warm mouthfuls. First blood in so long, and this blood especially, not because it's Xander's but so close to the source, line of Aurelius, and he tastes them all in every drop. Heavy musk of Angelus, plummy sweetness of Dru, spicy tang of Darla, and it's enough to take him over the edge. He comes, still feeding, tasting Xander's panic seep into the mix. His own stickiness covers them both, and he jacks the boy off with a perfunctory rhythm.

Unclamps from Xander's neck, teeth withdrawing and human face glamoring on. Takes in the hard set of Xander's eyes, the low growl still ruffling the silence of the crypt. If it had been him drained that far, he would be ash, and he knows it. Xander isn't trying to beat the satisfied grin off his face, but he's also not passed out either.

Spike licks his lips, tongue gathering up the last traces of the blood there. He looks at Xander with dark speculation in his eyes. "Has Angel been feeding you?"

"Yeah, why?" Xander rubs his hands across his face, demonic visage fading as he scrubs. He reaches over to touch the bite mark with hands that shake from a mad swirling of emotions. Pain from the bite fading along with the jittery edge of arousal and feeding.

"Going soft in his old age, he is." Soft ironic chuckle and Spike shakes his head, grabs an edge of the sheet and wipes his chest, thighs and belly.

Xander's head snaps around. "What are you talking about?"

"Hasn't he taught you anything? The only time I ever saw Dru drink from him was when she was half dead from him starving her for a week."

Wave of shame rushes over Xander as he blurts out, "He said it was normal to feed from your Sire."

"I think he may have left out a tad, pet. Favored childer, ones who earn the right. Did you earn it, boy?" Xander's thinking suddenly of the big bed back in the Hyperion, darkened room, clean sheets. Heavy weight of Angel resting against his back, arms holding him in comfort. Xander hangs his head and comes to hate himself just a little bit more than he had earlier tonight.

Spike speaks quietly. "Ah, I see the guilt is passed from father to child as well. Lovely." Considers the way the boy sits there looking down at his own feet, hand rubbing at the new bite mark. Looks close to breaking, and despite his earlier threats, Spike has no doubt who will be on the sharp end of the stake if his new playmate decides to run to the Slayer. Or to his Sire, for that matter. Decides a little damage control is in order. "You're not looking too chipper, have a snooze. You can even cuddle if you want."

Xander looks up at him, eyes black and glittering in the dimness of the crypt. He considers his options, and his exhaustion seems to make the choice for him. He stumbles the two steps to the bed and collapses, faces the wall, shoulders hunched up tight to his ears. Spike settles in beside him, and moves away when a brush of his arm against Xander's bare skin earns him a growl. He smirks at the broad expanse of flesh, folds his arms behind his head and waits for Xander to fall asleep.

= = = = =

Xander walks down the hall at the Hyperion towards his room. Voices filter to him, but he can't distinguish one from another or to whom they belong. At the end of the hall, he puts his hand out and opens the door before him. When he walks through, he's in the library at the old high school, Willow's sitting at the long table in the center of the room books strewn out in front of her. Overalls and a rainbow striped shirt. Her hair is short though, wisps fluttering around her face in feathered wings, shocking red/orange catching the halogen lighting from the ceiling. She doesn't look up or respond to his presence in any way as he crosses the floor and takes a seat at the table next to her. When he sits, she turns and frowns at him.

"I thought you were bringing me dinner."

"They were out of sushi at McDonalds." His eyes alight on the books open before Willow, the pages blank. "What are you doin', Will?"

Small shrug, and she finally smiles, reaches for his leg and pats his knee. "You know what I'm doing. Looking for answers, what else do I do?"

Her face twists as she speaks, and the last words are a glass rattling scream, head thrown back and fingers wrapped around the arm of her chair in a white knuckled grip.

"Jesus, Wills, tone it down." Brushes his fingertips along her hairline where the strands have become damp from perspiration.

"Aren't you hungry too?" Arcs her neck back and points at the blue artery standing out in the white flesh.

"I could eat." Slides his fingers through her hair to the back of her head and pulls her forward.

"Took you long enough." Voice filled with mirth, words whispered directly into his ear, and he realizes he hears no heartbeat, and her skin is cool to the touch.

= = = = =

Spike watches Xander dream. So much like his human self Spike almost feels surprised. Almost, because nothing could really surprise him now. Not one of the Scoobies as a vamp, one of his line, obviously adored by his soul-snared grandsire. The grandsire who also used to dream when he slept. Similar dreams, haunted by the past, Willow he hears now, Kathy it used to be, and Spike files it all away for tormenting both men at a later date, but also to stand it beside his own dreams, Cecily and now Buffy. Wonders over Xander's kill tonight, and how many others there have been. What Angel really knows about it. Tumbles down into sleep sated and a hair's breath calmer than he has been since being captured by the Initiative.

=end=


	8. Chapter VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike takes advantage.

Under him, Xander feels leather, instantly, he knows he's home, in that clarity of awareness dreams give you. The scent of evening primrose and jasmine mixed with blood and fear-spice blanket him; turning, he sees that the double doors to the garden are open. He stands and moves to walk that direction, but behind him, he feels the pull of presence, and finds himself back in the chair he just left. Spike is standing over him dressed in midnight blue pajamas, cigarette in one hand, book in the other.

"Forever is a long time, lad." From the open French doors, female voices drift in, snatches of songs, two lines of a riddle.

"Not like you know any better than me, you're not that old." Spike moves, draws his eye, and he's dressed in ubiquitous leather duster and jeans.

"Old enough to know what loneliness is. He'll never let you keep them." Spike points over Xander's shoulder, and when he follows the line of the finger, Tara's silhouette frames the right hand side of the door way.

"Don't listen to him, Xan. Smoke and double talk," she intones with a half-smile curving her lips.

He returns the grin, and he's standing again, this time in his bedroom, stripped to the waist. The door flies open, and Willow's head pops into the crack.

"Your Daddy is mad at me." Xander shoves aside the cool corpse in his bed, rolling it onto the floor and listening to Willow approach. Not turning, he responds "What did you do now?"

"Existed." A hand clamps over his mouth, huge and un-Willow; an arm around his waist draws his torso into a broad, male chest.

"When did I give you permission to leave my bed?" Terror overwhelms him, and he knows with complete finality, there's no escape. Until the hand on his face falls away, and the one about his waist turns him. Angel's face is lit with a wicked smirk, and Xander can see his arousal straining against the fabric of his pants. "I brought you something."

Angel indicates the bed, and Xander sees Cordelia bound, gagged and naked and thrills at the site.

The wild look in Cordelia's eyes, and his utter bliss that it's from fear of him chases Xander into wakefulness. He rolls over in bed and the clock on the bed-side table tells him that's it's just a bit after eleven. He can't remember the last time that hour found him asleep. Tries to block out the dream by thinking about Willow and Dawn on the doorstep at 9 that morning, bearing bags of blood in a cooler and a playstation. The day filled with those two plus Tara after her class, talking, videos games, and far more stress than he can deal with so far from any steadying rock. Kept feeling the confession of his time with Spike and what led to it in the back of his throat and had to stay on guard constantly to keep himself from falling at their feet and begging them to help him. When he wasn't listening to the thrum of the blood flooding out from their hearts to the extremities of their bodies. That thought brings the dream back up, and he rolls out of the bed and heads to the shower.

Slightly more relaxed and half-dressed, he's on the top stair when he hears a steady beating on he front door, runs down to answer it, hoping and dreading that it might be Buffy, finally. Swings the door open and isn't surprised to see Spike, doesn't bother to try and keep the irritation from his face as the other man looks him over from head to toe.

Spike grunts at him, waves his hand in exasperation. "You look sleep rumpled. What the hell are you doing sleeping at half twelve?"

Xander keeps one arm across the doorway, unnecessary block but making his point anyway. "You would be too if you were up all day."

"There's something wrong in the world when a vampire can't sleep in peace in the daytime." Spike shakes his head with real regret, sounds morally insulted, if such a thing were possible for him.

"Tell Wills and Dawn and Tara that." Xander catches himself falling into the banter, jerks back into the place he wants to be, distant and irritated, and showing it. "Why are you making small talk with me?"

Flutter of eyelashes, sarcastic parody of the starry eyed beau, "Can't you tell I'm tryin' to romance you? All the flower stalls were closed. You gonna invite me in?"

"You really are as stupid as you look." Snort of laughter to punctuate that remark, and Xander makes a move to close the door. Spike puts a hand up, waves Xander outside.

"Come on then, let's go."

Head shaking as he replies with a determined, and he hopes forceful, protest. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

Spike heaves a sigh, shoulders moving with the effort, and explains himself with exaggerated patience. "Why do you have to be such a pain in my ass? You know you're coming, I know you're coming, just get your bleedin' coat and come on!"

"Where do you want me to go?"

That earns him a grin, tip of pink tongue visible between his parted teeth. "For a little nosh and then an après dinner fuck, what else?"

Stubbornly Xander shakes his head again. "No, no way. I'm not feeding from people anymore. Giles gave me some blood bags, I already ate." But he doesn't shut the door.

"Who are you trying to convince? Me or you? Just come with me, and we'll see how strong your resolve is to walk the thorny path." Lights a cigarette as he waits, sees the expressions that flick across Xander's face in rapid progression, resolve falling into weakness and hunger. Sees him shake himself like a dog shedding water as he tries to rid himself of the desire to feed on hot living blood, something that Spike has never lost despite the months of forced denial. Something no vampire ever loses, not even Angel, although he would never own up to it. Not even to himself and certainly not to his pretty pet here.

"Just leave me alone." Growl in Xander's voice, rumble of the frustration that Spike has finally managed to stoke into some kind of flame for him to feed. The boy's temper has not improved by the demon within, and it's the easiest manipulation in the world.

"You don't seem to be comprehending the blackmailing portion of the program. You stay in, refuse to feed so I can't feed, then your number's up. Quit stalling, I'm famished." Drags heavily on the cigarette, exhales and tosses it to the step, grinds his boot on it and sends up an arc of orange sparks before it gutters out.

Xander watches him for a minute, then turns away, reaches for his jacket. Shrugs into it as he walks out the door. "I fucking hate you." Clicks the lock into place and follows Spike down the sidewalk.

They're at the street when Spike turns to him. "Try not to kill 'em this time, the brooding puts me right off my shagging."

===========

Xander lets his mind wander as he trudges along, one or two steps behind Spike as they walk in what appears to be a fairly straight line to their destination. He snaps back to himself when he recognizes the dorm where Buffy and Wills lived last year. "Spike, we appear to be on campus."

"Your intelligence is staggering. Too bad they don't let demons in as guest lecturers." Pace unhurried and unchanging as they cross lawns, brush by students ambling around the campus late at night.

Xander's head whips back and forth, absurdly sure that Buffy will turn a corner any minute and take a major wig over seeing him with Spike. "Why are we here? People I know live here."

Spike looks back over his shoulder. "Don't worry, where we're going, none of your little friends would be caught dead." Again with the grin, an expression Xander is growing to loathe more every single time he sees it.

"Since when did you become the pun master?"

"Must be proximity to you." Spike stops abruptly, and Xander walks right into him, too busy watching everywhere for a familiar face to spy him. Half hoping one of them does come by to drag him off and spare him the wreckage that looms ahead.

"This is the tri-Delt house." Unspoken question - what the fuck are we doing here?

"Yeah, it is, istn't it? They seem to be having a little shindig." That's an understatement if he's ever made one; the music loud enough to make the panes of glass shudder to the heavy bass beat, the spray of debris all over the lawn, empty plastic cups that are synonymous with keggers strewn in a fallout pattern away from the house. There's someone heaving in the bushes at the side of the steps, and to Xander's increasingly acute hearing it's as loud as if it was amplified. He feels his own stomach clench in sympathy, swallows it down and wonders how that sound can make his want to vomit, but the thought of going over there, ripping the guy's throat out and sparing him the process of dry heaves and a hangover makes his head swim with giddy hunger.

Turns instead to Spike, pokes him in the chest with his finger. "How the hell did you know they were having a party?"

The blonde scoffs at him. "Like I'm gonna give up my sources, come on."

The smell of alcohol and vomit war for dominance when Xander walks through the door of the sorority house. No invite necessary, common room, and doubtless one would have been easy enough to come by anyway if they'd needed it. Half the people who're still on their feet are drunk and the other half are way past that point of delineation. There are several people passed out on the stairs, limbs rubbery and mouths slack.

"Jello shot?" Perky little sorority girl, right at their elbows, perfect hostess in the carnage of the party, tight, pink sweater still immaculate, hair in two braids with glittery pompoms at the ends. Spike smiles at her, takes the tray out of her hands, and Xander watches in amazement as she blushes at his attention and lets him have it. She toddles off to grab more and help spread the alcoholic joy.

"Everclear, brill invention, dontcha think?" Spike heads over to the steps, balances the tray on the railing, hands Xander a shot. He looks down at the jiggly green mass, watches Spike toss his back and take another.

Xander shrugs. "Always room for jello." The little plastic cups become empty in an alarmingly short span of time, and Spike lets the tray drop. No one even notices the clanging sound, and if they do, they couldn't be bothered to turn and look. Alcohol still goes straight to Xander's head, and he can feel himself loosening up.

"What do you think of that bird over there?" Spike indicates a girl Xander recognizes as Sarah, Veronica's friend from last night and shakes his head.

"Not that one."

"Why the hell not? Looks all innocent and tasty." Blue eyes intent on him, and Xander shrugs.

"I know her name."

"I can see your point. How about that one then?" Slim finger points to a girl with long, thick, blue-black hair, and when she turns Xander can see the tilt to her eyes, porcelain skin, high wide cheekbones. Picks her heartbeat out of the crowd like an old habit and listens to it skip along, hears the rush of blood through her veins. Imagines she'll taste so sweet when he bites down and lets her life wash down his throat...

"Can't we give it a few? Stop pushing me."

"Wanna get good and liquored up, eh? Fine, I'll just mix. Don't try to scamper off on your lonesome." Fixing him with a warning look, Spike turns and melts into the crowd. Xander watches him go, sees the way the girls turn to follow him with their eyes, knows he revels in this attention from the humans he considers a walking buffet even though he's out of cash and can't sample the treats.

Husky voice in his ear, "Nice pants," a light touch on his waist, and Xander turns to see who just managed to invade his solitude in a record breaking fifteen seconds. Not the lovely girl he'd been considering for dinner just moments ago, instead a tall blonde with the brightest green eyes he's ever seen. She's definitely got a Cordelia vibe about her, despite the hand that rests on his stomach, the ice-princess mystique that comes naturally to people as beautiful as she is. He looks down at her hand and back to her face.

"Let me guess," he says. "You're the ambassador from Planet of the Blondes and you come in peace?" Keeps his voice cool, and tells himself that no matter how tempting it is to take her, he can't. Instinct for survival says this one is being watched all the time, eyes on her wherever she goes, and whoever she leaves with will be noted. Not of the good, not at all, and he needs to make her go away. Dark whispers float into his mind at the thought of all that fine flesh laid out for him, and Xander can almost taste her in his mouth when she gives him a wicked slow smile. //why deny yourself? you can kill anyone who tries to stop you, this one is perfect//

"You want to take me upstairs and see how I come?" Licks her lips, and staggers slightly, total give away for the degree of intoxication she's working with. Makes it so much harder to walk away. //no pain, she won't even realize it's not a hickey, grab her fast, Spike won't see you if you're quick// But he doesn't listen to the voice, it's getting more and more difficult to hold it at bay, but his desire to survive the night is stronger than the writhing presence inside his head.

"Not that it's not the best offer I've had in the last, oh, twenty years, but I think I'm gonna pass this time."

The girl shrugs amiably, leans forward and kisses him anyway, slippery, pointed tongue poking between his lips before she turns and walks away, surprisingly graceful as she weaves among the people around her as well as the ones she has to step over on the floor. He loses her in the currents of the crowd, and when he turns back he can feel Spike watching him. Scans the room and finds those blue eyes right away, trained on him while Spike chats with a girl who is twirling her hair and hanging on every word he says, oblivious to the lack of eye contact she getting. Message to Xander loud and clear -- you find one or I will.

The girl with the black hair swings into his line of sight again, and he's struck with the singular knowledge that this is definitely the one. She reminds him with a ping of his first feeding, evokes a bizarre feeling of nostalgia, and he figures what the hell. Her clothes are leaning towards the black and gothic, and that's come to be strangely reassuring to him. Remembers the goth boy who *asked* him to feed, and thinks maybe she'll be one of those, and wouldn't that make the whole thing that much easier? //too easy, more fun when they struggle//

He's by her side in a flash, and she warms right up to him, takes in his wardrobe and relaxes into surface familiarity. It marks him as part of her range of comfort, leather and lycra and pale pale skin. Small talk about the noise, the people, the drinking. Steps in closer and she doesn't mind him getting right up close to her face. He leans in to admire her earrings, long strands of sterling that almost touch her shoulders; she turns her head, brushes her lips across the corner of his mouth. Lets him lead her outside, and Xander never looks back as they exit the oppressive arena of the party and wander towards the heavy shadows that blanket the area between the lecture hall and one of the dorms.

He can smell the alcohol on her, sweating it out under the clothes heavy for this time of year. Figures her about eighteen, a freshman, and plastered to be at a sorority trying to meet people she'll hate. She turns when they reach the full shadows between the buildings, slides the fingers of one hand under the bottom of his shirt.

"My name's..." he cuts her off with a hand over her mouth, shoves her up against the brick-work of the wall as she laughs under his fingers.

"No names. You're just pretty girl in an alley, ok?" Feels her nod, and smells her arousal increase exponentially. Draws his hand away from her face and down he side of her neck.

"Whoa, your hands are cold. Bad circulation or something, hot guy in an alley." Fingers already working at the button on his fly, tiny and delicate, red nails with black at the tips.

"You'll warm 'em up for me, won't you?" Licks along the throbbing vein on her neck and shoves both hands into the back of her pants, her wiggling forward into his mouth and away from the chill of his palms.

"God yes." Pants open, trying to maneuver him into a better position to get her own pants off, and Xander can't wait another second, teeth elongate and slash through her throat far more brutally than he intended. She gasps in pain, brings her hands up to shove him away. No reason here, only the blood and the need.

"I thought they were lying..." he hears her murmur through the bloodlust and passion of the copper tang spurting into his mouth. Feels her struggling subside, her heartbeat beginning to stutter, but doesn't have any inclination to withdraw. Wants this, all of it, the lust in her blood turned sweeter with terror, the ultimate power and those last few drops that're the purest and most fulfilling. The subsiding of the craving, the power of a god, all of that is his in these few seconds with this bundle of flesh in his arms and under his teeth.

"Let her go." Words barely registering, and this close to the girl's death throws, he didn't feel Spike until he was close enough to not even have to raise his voice. Doesn't stop, doesn't give a flying fuck what Spike wants, just two or three more heartbeats, and it will be over.

"I said, let her fucking GO!" A blow to the back of his head causes his grip on the girl to slip, his teeth fall from warm flesh, and she drops to the ground. Her heart still beating, straining, but working, and he feels more bereft than he can ever remember. His most precious desire stolen from his grasp. He hears the creak of leather as Spike raises his arm to strike another blow, and he spins to catch the arm in mid-swing.

"Don't you ever hit me again, William." Sees the reaction that name evokes and takes a visceral pleasure in knowing he caused it.

Cheekbones in stark relief as Spike sucks on the inside of his mouth before gritting out his reply in a voice that's half growl despite his efforts to control it. "You are pushing your luck far harder than you have any concept of."

Xander lets Spike jerk his arm free, reaches down and refastens his pants. "Since when did you become Robin, out searching the night for victims in need?"

Hard finger jabbing into Xander's chest, punctuation to each syllable. "I told you not to kill her."

"And I give a FUCK what you say? This was my kill." Steps on up to the shorter man, lets the height advantage work for a minute until he sees that it makes not the smallest shred of difference to Spike. Realizes that Spike has spent a good deal of his unlife being on the shorter side of the staring game and has come away from it with no discernable dent in his ego or his attitude.

"And one that might have gotten us both dusted. I'm not willing to go silently into that fuckin' final good night for you or anyone else." Mental flash of the wrath of his GrandSire for tarnishing his shiny boy, favored childe led astray by the wayward and unwanted member of the family. Thinks of how quickly he'd become dust in the hands of an wrathful, righteous Angel, blown away from the one thing he thinks he wants most of all, wind taking him further from the already remote possibility of possessing the Slayer. All his do-gooding and staying on the safe side of the street shot to shit because Xander's demon is in fuller control than any of his friends have any awareness of. And that's not gonna happen.

Xander's words startle him with their ferocity. "She's food, Spike. You're so fucking soft now you're saving humans. Look what you're reduced to, sniffing after Buffy's crotch."

Spike's fist connects with Xander's jaw in the same split second it dawns on him what Spike just saved him from, his guilt and his longing to complete the task warring as he falls into loose battle stance and takes a roundhouse kick at Spike's head. Swift deflection, and he's rewarded with the manic gleam in Spike's eye he remembers all too well from years back. Lets his self-hatred and awareness that is was Spike, who has no soul to drive the killing urges out, who just saved the life of a nameless human, fuel the fight.

Kick, block, punch, jab, and no matter how much skill and how many years Spike has on Xander, the younger vampire is still freshly fed and suckled from the vein of one of the most powerful members of their race. It takes ten minutes for Xander to have Spike pinned against the wall with his arm wrenched behind his back.

"Looks like I can take you after all, old man." The rage is still trying to claim him, but the physical struggle has brought focus, and the pain of his own actions is the dominant emotion as he hears Spike's laughter, husky and everything sultry about sex.

"Maybe I let you win." Shoves his hips back to gain firmer contact with Xander's. And that action brings on the other facet of his betrayal of Angel. The feeding wasn't enough, his fall had to come at the hands of walking sex.

"I doubt it. This is between you and me, right, William?" Fingers popping open Spike's fly, pulling his arm up higher in his back with the other, words whispered directly into his ear. Lust high, both of the them sparking their scents into the night, probably sending fledges scattering in a half a mile radius.

"You think you have power over my mind using that name? You're more like him than you know. It's between us, not like I want anyone to know anymore than you do."

"I have power over you, and I'm about to show you how much."

**

Willow hurries past the ear shattering music and drunken students in their mid-week debauch.

"They must have ten brain cells between the whole slobbering group of them." She mutters to herself as she passes to the other side of the walkway to avoid the hulking frat boys and their beer funnel.

Normally, she wouldn't be caught out alone at this time of night, well, that's a lie, she's out alone at this time of night all the time, but she knows it's a bad idea, and at least that's something. She's on her way to the chem. lab to "procure" //Steal! Shut up, Anya, you can't even be quiet when you're gone to Uzbekistan, and this is for a good cause, and damn, I'm stealing again.// ingredients for a spell that Giles would not necessarily approve of, and for which she's missing key non-hellmouthy components. Tara stayed back at the dorm, because it is the first night of her period, and she was deep in meditation, didn't even notice Willow slip out the door.

"Hey, Red, come hit it." The beer bong boys are signaling to her. She waves, and quickens her pace, decides maybe a shortcut is in order. Two buildings down and one over, she knows is if she turns down this path through the buildings she'll...see two vamps fighting over a body.

//Not two vamps. Xander.// Willow feels similar to the night she found out that Angelus had been sneaking into her house when she thought she was safe and tucked away from the evil that lurked in the hearts of demons. Not scared, utterly enfeebled. Spike must have attacked Xander, but now he's pinned against the wall. She doesn't want Spike to have gone back to his old ways, it disrupts her life even more than it has been already, and she can't imagine life with one more gone wrongy type deal. First impulse, to call out to Xander to let him know she's there, and she has a stake in her purse and a thermos of holy water to boot, cross in her back pocket, and the ball of light spell on her lips. Afraid it might give Spike the advantage. So, she holds herself as still as she can, and slides to the left where the shadow of the building covers her pea green pants and purple shirt. When she's fully settled to wait the fight out, she gets a clear view of the girl on the ground. Doesn't recognize her, but the bite on her neck is more than familiar. Confusion swiftly giving over to dread. One of them had bitten her. Mind like a steal trap, perhaps rusty on a couple teeth, but she knows that if Spike's chip were out that someone she knows would be dead, at least one, maybe everyone she knows, and that conclusion brings her to the worst possible thing in the universe. Xander bit that girl.

She doesn't feel the tears rolling down her face, her focus is on the sharp, stabbing pain in her chest, and at first she's scared she's having a full-fledged heart attack at 20. She recognizes it after a second as her heart falling apart, the proverbial one, not the fleshy one. Still not scared of him, even if he did hurt some anonymous girl at a party, she is still Willow, and he's still Xander. She shifts her body and prepares to run over there and rescue Spike, something she doesn't even have to check herself anymore before thinking. Two steps forward, thermos uncapped, her position has altered enough to see the two men in full profile //oh oh oh that's not fighting// tunes back into the night and turns her ears on. Realizes the sounds she took as struggling grunts and moans are of a different variety altogether. Embarrassed beyond belief, enraged, frightened, and hurt the worse since Veruca, Willow caps her thermos and walks to the nearest emergency call box to get an ambulance for the girl on the ground.

**

Guilty and heartsore on too many levels to name, Xander unlocks the deadbolt on the Rosenburg's front door and crosses the threshold. Before he even relatches the door, he hears the heartbeat. Willow smell fills the air, and he knows it's too vivid to be residual. Rushes into the living room to find Willow ensconced in an armchair, her feet folded under her, eyes swollen and bloodshot, studiously attempts to ignore the big honkin' crucifix on her lap.

Throws himself to his knees in front of her, takes her hands and holds them in his, away from the cross. "What's wrong Wills? Did something happen to Tara?"

She tugs them away, one hand fluttering over the pewter and pushing it to the chair, away from him but still within her grasp. She looks at him, tears welling up and spilling over. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you lie, or not lie, just not say anything? Did you think I didn't love you enough to understand?" Shuddering breath in when she says this last bit, and it hurts him to see her and know he was the one who did it, guilt over so many things that he can't even be sure of which thing she's found out about.

"What are you talking about?" Makes himself not reach out for her hands again even though he really wants to, wants to be touching her. Settles instead for letting one fingertip brush her knee, immense relief when she doesn't flinch away from him.

"You could have stayed with Giles, so there was someone around to look out for you. Even, you could have slept on the floor of my room, anything, if you would have just told us, or not even us, me." Swipes her hand over her face, smearing tears and the remains of her mascara, pushing her hair back from her face. It's wet at the temples and sticks to the skin.

He hangs his head, swallows down his own tears, tries to get a hold on the urge to just tell her everything, all of it, and beg her for forgiveness. Somehow there's a insane thought that if Willow knows it all and grants the blessing of understanding that everyone else will fall in line, see it through her eyes. "Oh Jesus, Wills, which thing are you talking about?"

"Which? I don't care about the gay thing! But that hurts too, I mean, of all people, you couldn't just hint at it?" Sniffles again, looks down at her hands in her lap, gathers her thoughts. "Or hanging out with Spike, because really, no hate for him, but sneaking around? Behind my back? How could you? It's the other part."

Understanding dawns, and with it horror. He sits back on his heels. "You saw me tonight."

"Boy howdy. How many people have you killed? Do you kill them and let Spike drink what's left? Are you..." Tears again and Xander watches her pull herself back together. "You know, a couple?"

He'd laugh if it wasn't all so damn horrible. And even in his instinctive outburst, he finds himself going with self preservation, lying to her." I didn't kill anyone! And I fucking HATE Spike. It was his idea to go to that party, and he made me drink from those people so he could feed from me."

Her brow wrinkles and her voice shimmies up an octave. "People? Where were the others? I only saw one girl." Her heart starts to race, and he hears it speeding up, thrumming like the wings of a tiny bird, her face suffused with the extra blood, her scent spiced with anger and fear. The anger he expects, even welcomes in a way because he knows he deserved it, but the fear cuts through him.

"Not tonight. Willow, please. I can't control it. And I've been having these horrible dreams that are fucking up my mind." He forces himself to stop concentrating on the blue vein that's throbbing in her neck, the way her hair brushes it with every movement of her head, the way he aches to just lean over and bite down, slow and careful, spare her the pain while her blood fills him.

"Please? You think you didn't have a chance to tell me? I wasn't there for you? Xander, I love you more than anyone else in the world, even Tara, and you lied to me when I was willing to do anything to help you. Eating people is bad and evil, and Spike doesn't even do it anymore."

That pisses him off, to be compared to Spike, the fact that she has no true comprehension of what she's talking about, and he jumps to her feet. Sees her flinch from the blur of his movement and he whirls so he doesn't have to watch the disappointment on her face. "He has a fucking CHIP. You think he wouldn't be out there killing three, four people a night if he didn't??"

Turns again, stalks over to the chair and slams his hands down on the arms, trapping her in it, watching her press herself back into the cushions. He leans in, so close he can feel her panting shallow breath on his cheek. "You have no goddamned idea how hard it is! Imagine everyone in the world was made of chocolate, but you weren't allowed to eat them, you had to survive on bagged carob. Could you do it?"

She swallows hard, her eyes flickering from his, settling on his mouth, his ear, the door behind him as she stammers out, "Angel has for a hundred years, except that one little bit...and welll..."

Lets out a flinty chuckle at her words, a dark sound, and he sees her shiver. "Yes, St Angel. He's just fucking perfect, it's he? You don't know him, Willow. You think he doesn't want to rip your throat out? You're deluding yourself!"

"You... you want to rip my throat out?" Her heart trip hammers into a blazingly erratic rhythm and then skips a beat and something inside of him stretches and uncurls itself.

"No, I was talking about Angel...I would never hurt you, never, Willow, I love you." His voice is so quiet that she can barely hear him, and even to her ears it sounds like he's trying to convince himself as hard as he is her.

"Why am I having a hard time believing you? You might love me, but you're not the same person, and you're right, I was deluding myself, because I didn't want to see you for who you are now. But now I do, and you can't change it." Glimmer of temper back in her eyes, and she puts her hands on his shoulders and shoves. Is surprised that he actually moves, that he lets her do it.

He stumbles back a step, looks down at her with eyes that glitter gold behind the sable shadows. "I can change it."

"Xander...Are you threatening me?" Her hand clenches around the crucifix that's still pressed against her thigh, but she doesn't raise it. Yet.

"No, I'm...oh fuck." His head snaps up, eyes clear and bright for the first time tonight. He fixes her with a look that speaks volumes of the agony he's in, and in a blurring whirl of motion he turns and runs from the room. She hears the crack of wood when he hits the door, barrels through it without bothering to use the doorknob, and by the time she scrambles up and gets there, he's gone.

She goes to the phone and dials with hands that shake, listens to the answering machine pick up on the other end. Gathers her strength, forces her voice into something closer to normalcy than she would have believed possible under the circumstances.

"Um, Angel? This is Willow. It's kinda late, you might be asleep. When you get this message though, could you call me at xxxxxxx? It's my parent's house. It's about Xander. Oh maybe leaving a message was a bad idea, I don't know who checks this machine...um, Cordelia, hi and Wesley too. I'm not panicking, I just drank a bunch of coffee, would you tell Angel to call me as soon as he can? Um, ok, bye."

=end =


	9. Chapter IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander returns to L.A.

Edges of the sky fade from indigo to ash as Xander knocks on the door, hand shaking and nerves wound up tight. The approaching daylight makes his skin itch and crawl in the primitive instinct to seek cover, and the weight of what he's done and nearly done draw his nerves out like a bowstring. Knocks again and catches his hand raised in midair when the door swings open and reveals a disheveled and sleepy Cordelia. Hair in a loose braid, t-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms creased and rumpled, heart rate slow and even, she is the most beautiful thing he's seen in hours.

She meets his gaze with eyes that are heavy and half-closed, traces of purple circles under them and sighs. "Great, did Buffy try to kill you?"

"No, I fucked up, but can we not talk about it?" Lifts his hand to brush the hair back from his face, glances over his shoulder and notes that the sky has gone cotton candy pink. He tries not to flinch, but when he turns around she's stepping back from the door with a quick shuffle and a murmured invitation, and he sees the curtains in the living room swinging closed. //gotta get me one of those in-house ghosts//

Cordelia puts a hand on one slim hip and eyes him sternly. Doesn't point the familiar accusing finger at him, but he hears it in her tone. "We can not talk about it *now* because I was out until three killing puss demons in their ever-so-lovely lair, but tomorrow, buster, you will spill all."

Nervous smile and he agrees, anything to just get someplace where he can close his eyes and let exhaustion claim him, fall into the oblivion of sleep, or at least fall to nightmares that end when he opens his eyes instead of dwelling in the one he's currently actually living in. "Whatever, I just need to lay down."

"Don't you have a bed at the Hyperion? Not that I want to know what side of the bed you sleep on and what side Angel sleeps on, but..."

Stab of guilt at the reminder that he really doesn't need, the one thing he's been trying to avoid thinking about. The reason he's here and not there, although he tells himself it's proximity of sunlight that had him turn left instead of right when he hit the boulevard. "Cordy, please, just shut up for now, ok?"

She clicks the lock on the door, speaks over her shoulder to him. "Normally I would slap you, but I'm too tired. You can sleep with me, if you don't hog the covers, the drapes are thin in the living room, don't want to have to vacuum again this week."

She waves off his words of thanks as he follows her into the bedroom and watches her slip into the unmade bed. He shrugs off his jacket, pulls the t-shirt over his head and then stops. Gives serious consideration to the action of climbing into bed with her without his pants on and decides that's not the best idea he's ever had although it's tempting to think of all her warmth right up against his skin. Decides against pissing off the owner of his only haven for the moment, removes boots and socks, literally crawls up the bed and under the shimmery pink coverlet. Listens to the deep and slow rhythm of her breathing, startlingly odd to him after months of total silence and cool arms wrapped around him. Turns to his side as his eyes slide shut and tries to find a way to block out the rushing of her blood, thud of her pulse, sweet scent of her skin-citrus bath-wash, mango lotion, deodorant, a myriad of scents, all hers and enveloping him. Struggles to find that gaping hole of exhaustion that was so ready to tug him down not very long ago. Down to the dreams where he jumps from disjointed reality to blood soaked no-man's land, and he doesn't know if that's a better place than this horrible fear and regret zone in his waking mind.

Cordelia manages to remove the possibility of sleep altogether when she presses herself back against him with a sigh, turning so that her head tucks under his chin, breasts a soft weight against his chest, slim thighs burning him through the leather pants. Xander lets his head slip down, nose buried in her hair, flip frames of memories shuffling behind his eyelids.

//Cordelia pressed against him in some anonymous closet, clutching hands and wet mouth and throaty moans of pleasure as they kiss and rub against each other. Front seat of Cordelia's car, passenger seat reclined, weight of her body as she lies on him and lets him touch her anywhere he can reach. One hand under her sweater and the other on the curve of her ass while she pants in his ear and urges him on.//

Xander drags himself back to the present with an extreme force of will. He tries to push her away, but at the touch of his hand on her hip she snuggles up closer, slips her arms around his waist and lets her head roll against his bicep. Her calf slithers in between his own, and he's trapped. Ignores the heavy tug of want that pools in his abdomen, shifts his hips to will away the beginnings of an erection and relaxes tense muscles as best as he can.

Within minutes he's asleep, and Cordelia is drooling on his arm. His body finally gives up on him after an hour of tensed muscles and attempts to dislodge himself. He rolls into that place that use to hold nothing and now flings Willow's face at him through-out the morning.

== == == == ==

He teases her about the droolage later in the day when she wakes him, and she threatens to have Dennis toss his undead, white ass out on the balcony. The familiarity of their bantering soothes him as they head over to the Hyperion, Cordelia driving the rented car and him lying on the backseat under a blanket.

His body thrums when he steps into the building, every cell on alert, and he knows Angel is there, upstairs and still sleeping. It tears at him, need to just go up there, be with him and heed the blood call, which is buffeted by the unmitigated shame of all the shit that he's gotten himself into since he left. Xander follows Cordelia up the steps from the basement and over to the phone on the desk, sees the little light on the answering machine blinking. He wonders who the call is from, Willow or Giles or Buffy, someone reporting him so that they can all take up stakes and crosses, because he's gone and proved himself to be evil and stupid in one fell swoop. All his own doing, and he considers the lost possibility of explaining to Cordelia what happened as soon as she opened her door. Didn't even consider it, and he thinks that means something, the need to confess gone, but he doesn't know what.

Cordelia presses play, listens to Willow's high pitched voice stutter out her message and turns to Xander with one eyebrow raised. "I'm willing to bet that is about you, huh?" She hits the erase button, and he feels a swell of gratitude as the robotic voice announces that they have no new messages.

He rubs the back of his neck, looks down at the tips of his boots and then peers up at her from the corners of his eyes. "Could we..."

"Not talk about it? You're like a skipping cd. Whatever you did, everyone will find out sooner or later. Not a lot of secrets around here. It's you're funeral...uh..." Stutters to a stop with the hint of a blush on her cheeks as she realizes what she's said, and he just grins at her.

"Right. I'm gonna get a cup of coffee, extract your foot from your mouth anytime." Saunters off to fetch himself as many blood bags as he can stuff into the microwave.

Cordelia calls after him as he disappears into the kitchen. "I'm not the one Willow is leaving messages about." She jumps a foot when the voice comes from behind her, more from guilt than from surprise.

"What was Willow's message about?"

"God, Angel, stop with the stealth thing." She huffs over to the desk, heels clicking on the tile and tries to compose himself. Turns and sees him standing with arms crossed, waiting for her answer. She flips her hand at him. "Oh, you know, nothing. I called her the other day to find out how Xander was. No big."

"And he's currently in the kitchen? He arrived during daylight?" His expression is carefully neutral, voice betraying none of the emotions that rage through him -anger, hurt, eagerness to see Xander again.

"Take that one up with him." She sits at the desk, scoots the chair up to the computer and boots it up, ignoring him completely, willing him to just go away and let her get on with her routine.

Angel watches her, restrains himself from going over and grabbing her by the arm, shaking her until she squeals. Heaves a sigh and mutters, "Sometimes I feel like I have four children," as he pads down the hallway towards the scent of blood and his childe.

Stands in the doorway and watches as Xander rinses out his cup, coppery tang of reheated blood heavy in the air. He notes six empty bags lying stacked on the counter before he speaks. "Xander?"

He half turns from the task which has now extended past the amount of time needed to clean one cup and tips his chin at Angel. "Hey."

"That's all I get?" Angel comes closer, nostrils flaring as he picks up the layers of scent surrounding Xander, physical and emotional rolled together into something thick and almost tangible. He gets a dizzying whiff of Cordelia-smell wound all around Xander's own, and the mental image that fosters causes his steps to falter. Incredibly clear visuals hit him, Xander flat on his back, hands gripping Cordelia's hips as she slithers down the length of him. Both of them naked, Cordelia flushed, hair tousled and mouth swollen, Xander's eyes heavy -lidded as she licks her way down his chest, pink-tipped nails trailing behind, scratches appearing and disappearing in the pale alabaster of Xander's skin. Envisions her mouth as she takes him between her lips, swallows him down, can hear so clearly the sighs and moans of pleasure that Xander makes, the sounds that Angel thought were his alone, the same way he believed he owned the expression Xander makes as he approaches orgasm, eyes wide, bottom lip between his teeth.

All of this in a split second as he breathes in the odor and his mind colors it red with hurt and betrayal, jealousy whipping his temper up to frighteningly higher peaks with every inhalation. But he just can't seem to stop himself from doing it, anymore than he can lose the image that's burned into his brain - Cordelia riding Xander, and Xander calling her name as he comes. He flashes on whether it's Xander with another that pisses him off so badly or it's this one particular other.

"You want a hug?" Xander finally puts the cup down, twists the handle to stop the flow of water and turns to face him.

"No, more like an explanation as to why you arrived out of the blue and during the day." Angel stops at the table, one hand extended and flat against the scarred surface.

Xander can see the way he's holding himself still, he knows Angel is both irritated and confused; his body language and pheromones proclaim it loud and clear. "I got back last night." Casual lift of one shoulder, almost a shrug but not quite, attempt at nonchalance to mask the screeching in his head that this is the time, the one where he meets the otherside of this reality. And he can't remember being this scared. Not when Angel busted him before, not when he realized he'd almost turned Willow, not when he thought the Master had killed Buffy. He's learned to control his scent some, though, so he concentrates on that. Keeps as much of the fear in the back of his mind as he can, puts indifference to his fate at the front. He brought it all on himself anyway.

"Strange, I didn't hear you come in or feel your side of the bed sink down." Grit under velvet, and Xander's heard this voice so many times, for informants and Wolfram and Hart employees and only once before for him.

"Probably because I went over to Cordelia's." Angel's closer now, right up on him, and Xander wants to hang his head, bare his neck, anything to achieve a lessening of his own guilt, a lightening of the expression on Angel's face to get it down and over, the fight to keep his emotions in check is burning up the blood he just devoured, and he knows he won't be able to keep it up long. When Angel gets the terror vibe, the game's over.

"Which I would have known anyway since you smell like her double." Small sniff to enhance the statement.

"Probably."

"What's going on?" One hand on either side of Xander, not quite touching him but effectively pinning him against the countertop.

"What're you talking about?" Lets Angel assess him, steal his space and hem him in. Almost wants to laugh that this conversation seems to make as little sense to him as it does to Angel.

"Why did you go over to Cordelia's instead of coming home?" Flick of a pink tongue over a jutting bottom lip, and Xander knows that means focus, and he's the point where the lines meet.

Another of those half shrugs and Xander swallows hard. "Just did."

"Why do you smell like you were rolling around with her?" And the facade is dropped, there's no more pretense in either expression or voice, there's hurt there and it hits Xander like a physical blow. Hurt was not an option he expected, not from Angel, not again. Files it away for later.

"She must have drooled on me." His own voice breaks before he can help it, and even though he's not lying, the stress of concealing all that has sent him running back to here is almost on the surface. He doesn't know how to react to the Cordelia issue being what has him in trouble, relieved beyond measure that Angel's absorbed with that instead of asking about the trip, but all the same he's freaked.

"Xander. I am willing to make concessions for you being a little off because you must've had a hard time in Sunnydale, but what I'm getting here is that you came back to LA and had another trip down memory lane with Cordelia, and I'm not beating the hell out of you right now because I'm waiting to hear you tell me differently." Voice rising as he ends the speech, hands clenched into fists whether he realizes it or not, and Angel takes one step back, allows himself some space to swing and waits to hear the explanation.

"I slept with Cordelia...." That's all he manages before he's on the floor, face numb from the force of Angel's blow, lip cut and bleeding. He sits there, blinking stupidly and staring up at Angel as Cordelia rushes in, Wesley on her heels. They skid to a stop as Cordelia spies Xander on the floor, Angel looming over him, one fist still clenched at this side, the other hand splayed on the counter as if to steady himself.

She puts her hands on her hips, one foot thrust out in front of her, hair swaying as she looks back and forth between the combatants. "You two are like an after school special! Give it a rest!"

Wesley peers over her shoulder, concern for them both written on his face. His eyes linger on Xander where his lip still bleeds and skitter up to Angel who has begun to breathe through his open mouth. Considers adding something to the conversation but cannot imagine what would be helpful other than removing himself and Cordelia from what is apparently a serious Sire/childe matter. And one he is not desirous of learning the details of.

"Get away from me." Angel turns towards them both, eyes glinting golden at the outer rings of brown, but his words are for Cordelia.

Xander sighs from his place on the floor, wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and chin, crimson smears staining white skin. "Angel..."

"Shut UP!" Head swivels back towards Xander , eyes completely golden but still somehow telegraphing as much pain as anger.

"Angel, really, I think it best if you calm down." Wesley speaks quietly, takes a tentative step towards Angel and halts when he turns to look at him this time, brow furrowing as all the interruptions in his need to deal with this immediate situation begin to make him lose the focus of his anger.

Cordelia takes the opportunity to run over to Xander, kneels down and touches his face hesitantly. Xander looks past her to address Angel again. "I slept with her as in SLEEPING. As in NOT sex."

Cordelia's eyes go wide and she jumps to her feet. Steps right on up to Angel, puts a hand on his chest, fingers spread as she pushes him "You thought I had sex with Xander? Ewwwww! Can you say over it?"

"Why did you go there instead of here then?" Angel's voice drops, tightness falling out of it, eyes shimmering back to brown.

"It was almost dawn, and it was closer, I thought I might get caught out in the light." Xander strives to match the tone, stays quiet, keeps himself still. He can't bring himself to be angry at the blow, knows he deserves it and more for past transgressions that Angel is all too unaware of. Makes it easier for him to stay calm here, ease the situation along to a conclusion where no more blood is spilled and no more beatings occur. Plus, Angel will be contrite and guilty, not too probing about the separation.

"Why did you leave so late?" Moving forward tentatively, roll of his shoulders in the small steps, and Xander knows if Angel were less of a stoic, he might start crying any minute.

"Bad planning on my part." Xander considers this the truth, bad planning on his part all around, from the minute he got to Sunnydale it was all bad spiraling into worse. Shouldn't have gone alone; shouldn't have gone at all.

Wesley clears his throat. "Well, now that everyone's sex life is cleared up, Cordelia, why don't we see about those files?" He takes her upper arm and guides her out, door swinging closed behind them with a rush of air.

Angel finishes the walk over to him, head down. "Are you ok?"

"Been better." Runs his hand along his jaw, feels the soreness already lessening, the cut on his lip closing.

Angel crouches with a sigh of regret, and he shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I..."

"Had a complete break down? Yeah, I noticed."

"Sometimes I don't think before I act." Fingers reaching out to hover over the cut on Xander's lip.

Xander bites down on his initial response //yeah, I noticed that, too// and instead asks, "You're that jealous of Cordelia?"

Angel manages to look contrite and embarrassed in equal measures. "You did have something with her in the past, and she's welll..."

"Stacked?" Xander supplies helpfully, definitely *not* thinking about her pressed up against him this morning, rounded softness and feminine heat everywhere.

"Pretty much." Ghost of a grin as he acknowledges the accuracy and falls the rest of the way to the floor to his knees. Xander spreads his own, forgiveness in the gesture as Angel settles on the ground.

"Did you miss me?" Wanted to go for a comical tone after the recent scene, but there's a crack in his voice on the delivery.

Angel considers him, head cocked to the side. "You want a poem?"

"Maybe some flowers, chocolates, you know the routine." Xander swallows as Angel comes closer, arms reaching out to pin him against the wall.

"This routine?" he asks, tip of his tongue visible between parted lips, and Xander nods.

Angel unfurls his legs to cock them over both of Xander's, traces the cut on Xander's lip as his eyes fall shut and his mouth opens. No way to resist the offer of what he is barely willing to admit himself - that he *has* missed this, and as he kisses the boy, he wonders how wrong it is to have allowed this to be. That he's grown used to the companionship, the company. And more than that, more than just the hard body that's writhing against his, responding to his touch. He's missed Xander, in all his quirkiness and anger, his rebellion and wit. His weight in the bed, his mess in the bathroom, Xander's mouth under his own or trailing down his body to suck and lick and bring him arching off the bed in climax after climax. Possessiveness only part of it, and recognizing that it's growing towards more than that doesn't even give him a second's pause.

Angel shimmies closer, gets their pelvises aligned just right, and savors the luxury of reclaiming what he's been thinking about every unoccupied minute since Xander left him behind and went off to Sunnydale and the old life Angel was afraid of losing him to. Pulls back when Xander yanks at the back of his hair.

"Wes's outside." Whispered in the almost unspoken manner that comes naturally to the undead. He smiles back at the boy, shakes the hand out of his hair.

"Yeah, you noticed that?" Leans back in, but Xander turns his head to the side.

"You think he's spying on us?" So close to make-up sex, Angel's even more annoyed than usual with this untimely interruption.

"I think he probably wants a cup of tea. More importantly, should I be caring?" Is about to grin at his own remark when Xander shoves him back with two hands on his chest.

"Can we go upstairs? I really don't want Cordelia clearing the path for him to get to the stove." He starts a scramble to get up, untangling his legs from the longer ones pinning him down. Angel pitches forward in a blur, pinning Xander to the ground. His control is slipping and his voice raises in volume.

"I don't want to wait until we get upstairs. I missed you. I can't believe you're making me beg for a cuddle, but I guess you deserve it for the hook to the jaw. Just a few minutes." Xander relaxes under him, brings one hand up to stroke the backs of his fingers against the side of Angel's face.

"You missed me?" So choked and needy, Angel is surprised.

"Every minute of every day."

== == == == ==

Wesley steps away from the door, embarrassment at having overheard the interlude taking a backseat to his growing concern about what was said. There was excitement in those voices, obviously, want and need in the tone. But wasn't there also the most definite sound of...affection?

His heart rate gives a jump, adrenaline washing over him in a wave of heat turning to numbing cold. The hand holding his mug begins to tremble, and Wes stares at it as he tries to gather his thoughts and remain calm. Certainly affection between even casual lovers is to be expected, and one needn't assume that there would be more than that. Sire and childe, one would assume *something * between them, some spark of family bond. Surely there is nothing to be worried about, the curse is so non-specific about the precise definition of 'perfect happiness.' And after all, would Angel ever be able to feel true happiness knowing the burden of the curse itself was hovering over him every moment?

//Right, I'm going to have some tea and help Cordelia with those files and that's enough of that. Of course, no harm in checking the Codex again. A bit of research is in order, just to see what prophecies are coming to pass, perhaps double check the Scrolls one more time. Cross referencing is highly under rated. Yes, that's it, I'll get on that as soon as I've had my tea.//

Wesley hears the murmuring of vampires' voices, sounds of bodies shifting, weight on the floorboards creaking as they leave the kitchen with hurried steps. Thankful that they've taken the back stairs, he enters the blissfully empty kitchen and stops short at the microwave. Notes the stack of blood bags that haven't managed to find their way into the trashcan yet, counts them slowly, plastic rippling under his fingertips. Sets his mug in the sink, tosses the stained containers into the bin underneath and moves a little quicker on his way back to the office.

//Perhaps the tea can wait...//

== == == == ==

//Wesley and brown water. It must be some kinda addiction, not a normal one, like for coffee. I wouldn't even go in the kitchen now for a caffeine fix. Right, there's caffeine in tea, like there's nutrition in Little Debbie's. Maybe he'll have to wait in the hall while Brood Boy and Junior get it on…yeah, it's my chance to call Willow on Angel's dime. Find out the dealio…no, can't hear Wes beating a hasty retreat…//

"Hello? Angel?"

"You get caller ID?"

"Cordelia?"

"The one and only, except not, the only me, not the only one with that name."

"Is there something wrong? Not that I mind you calling or anything…"

"There's nothing wrong with ME, what's wrong with you?"

"What makes you think something's wrong with me?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the spazz call."

"You check the messages. I thought that could be the case."

"Getting back to the topic you're avoiding, why did you call?"

"Uh, did Xander maybe show up there last night?"

"Sure did."

"And?"

"And he slept at my apartment because it was almost morning AND then Angel belted him in the face for it when he found out."

"He hit him for sleeping at your place? Not for, I don't know, something else?"

"Like not calling?"

"No. Something else?"

"Something else, huh? You gonna tell me what that would be?"

"Xander didn't say anything?"

"If he did, would I be asking you? I'm not tricky like that."

"Well, I don't know if I should…"

"Shit, Wes's coming, gotta go, bye!"

*click *

"Cordelia, what're you doing?" Wesley rounds the check-in desk and starts picking up every book in sight.

"Not talking on the phone long-distance or anything sneaky, if that's what you mean." She flips her hair and acts like she was connecting to internet.

"What? You say the most bizarre…at any rate, I need you to help me locate some books."


	10. Interlude: Reconstruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesley makes some discoveries.

Gunn is bored. He looks over to see if Wesley has budged from his spot, crouched over the desktop and face hovering over the pages of some big-ass book. No, still there, forehead all wrinkled with concentration. Gunn sighs, considers the alternatives to laying here with his feet hanging off the end of Wesley's couch and decides there's not much out there better. Bored and comfortable kicks battling demons in the ass every time.

He clears his throat, settles into the cushions a bit more and breaks the silence. "Whatcha got your nose stuck in, English?"

"The Veller Codex." Wesley's voice is quiet but sharp. He's glad of the company, likes to have Gunn around more than either of them will admit to outloud, but tonight he can't afford the luxury of idle talk or any of the other admittedly enticing activities they always end up engaging in.

Gunn snorts in disgust. "That's all the info I get? When you're short like that, it usually means a dragon attack or some shit." He lifts his head up again, waits to see if there's a reaction to the dragon remark, a reaction to him actually talking here instead of falling asleep waiting for Wes to get a clue and drop the books, take advantage of their downtime.

But Wes just turns a few of the thin, old pages, fingers gentle with the vellum, respectful of the volume and what lies within it. "I'm cross-referencing something I read in another text."

"Because you need to make sure the bad shit is really bad?" That gets him a look, Wesley's slim torso half turned in the wooden chair, light flashing on the rim of his glasses.

Slight exasperation in his voice when he says, "No, Gunn, I'm confused because the prophecies don't align, and I'm attempting to find out which ones contain what information." And he's not angry with Gunn, not in the least. It's himself that's the object of ire, for not knowing precisely where to look. And while he's on the subject, he finds himself rather pissed at the Watchers who assembled the Veller Codex, their haphazard methodology somehow eluding him, forcing him to page back and forth over and over. Locating the salient prophecies is difficult enough, the edges of his worry getting wider as he finds far too many references for his own good.

"Don't align? You mean they say different things?" Gunn sits up, swings his legs and plants his bare feet firmly on the floor.

"Precisely what I'm saying." Wesley reaches down and plucks another dusty leather-bound text from the pile beside him, looks at the spine to verify the title before cracking it open and flipping rapidly towards the end of the pages.

Gunn rubs his hand across his scalp, feels the beginnings of regrowth prickle his palm. Wonders what's got into Wes' shorts to set him off into research overdrive like this. Nothing good, that's for damn sure. "Is that regular? Sounds like a fucked up system if it is."

"Regular? It's common, I suppose, yes. Some texts become obsolete because the central prophecy they contain, or perhaps several core prophecies in some, don't come to pass for whatever reason." His voice is faint, he's speaking and reading at the same time, detailing his thoughts while some other section of his brain compiles more information on the whatever the hell has got him so riled up. Gunn won't admit that it impresses the hell out of him whenever he sees Wes do this kind of thing.

"Because the prophet inserted some fake lines in there as a joke?" Grins big and wide, tries to break Wesley's concentration, get that crease out of his forehead and possibly get him all worked up into an argument that will end up someplace other than where they are now, him on the couch alone and Wes burning out his eyeballs on faded ink and wrinkled yellowed paper.

"I hope to god not, usually some event is averted, some central figure is killed, there are so many possibilities. There must be any number of situations that would cause any single prophecy to not occur." Explanation notwithstanding. Wesley knows what that remark was all about, wants to be able to say to hell with this and leave the books. Angel has his solace, his partner, why should Wesley deny himself the same satisfaction? Thinks back to the sound of Angel's voice in the kitchen, tone muffled but not enough to let Wes pretend there wasn't more there. //Every minute of every day// He keeps to the books.

Gunn considers the information. "You mean it's not set in stone? There aren't some cosmic guard-rails to keep the world clicking along like the folks upstairs want?" It seems pretty damn fucked-up to have the Powers That Be sending down mixed signals, all the way back to the time when those books were brand new, and the people were writing with quills and ink instead of Bics and highlighters.

That earns him a closed book and a full turn in the chair.

Wes leans forward, hands open on his knees, earnestness in his voice. "Dear lord, of course not. Why do you think there are *so many* prophets? They see different possible paths for the world; they see different things, but in many cases several point to the same events, and even more rarely, there are those prophets that have yet to be wrong-up 'til now that is."

Gunn mimics his posture, lets his hands dangle between spread legs. "What's got you riled up? One of those books that ain't ever been wrong yet?"

Huge sigh, equal parts frustration and exhaustion. "Unfortunately, yes."

"We all gonna die again?"

"It's about Xander."

"Junior? He's in your books? Huh, I guess that explains the vision." Gunn sits up, cocks his head to the side and shoots Wes a broad smile. Xander's becomin' one of his boys Even though he's a vamp, they're down, and imagining Xander as some tool for the PTBs is just too sweet.

"I hadn't even thought of that." Wes straightens as well, his face flattens into a stunned expression, and he removes his glasses.

And Gunn doesn't like this one bit. Doesn't like thinking of things that didn't occur to Wes ten times over, and if it wasn't the vision, then something even worse must be happening. "No? Then what set you off?"

Wes replaces his glasses on his face and picks up the first book he had in his hand when Gunn engaged him, grabs another and sticks it under his arm. Walks over to the couch with the tome. "Listen to this: 'When these other visions have come to pass, there will be a time of tribulation and woe for the innocent of the world. Hope will come from many sources, but three will be of great import. The Woman of Conviction, the Penitent, and the Struggler. One human, two not, but all with souls. Warriors all, death will walk with them, and many will fall in their wake. Each may choose a path of destruction, turn aside from the way, but we will seek them out when the time approaches to right what the Otherside wreaks.'"

"What the fuck is all that noise?" Leans over to look at the text when Wes sits down next to him.

"Gavin Lyons' prophecies, he was a Watcher. This is a translation, his actual prophecies were given in Sanskrit for some unknown reason." Closes the book, sets it on the table and starts flipping through the other.

Gunn knows that when more than one book comes out to play his night is fucked, figures he might as well pay attention to what's going on. "I guess one of the more accurate ones. When did he live?"

"In the sixteenth century."

"Ain't been wrong? Hm, could be Angel and Junior, who knows. Paths of destruction, sounds like Angel alright, but Junior?" Thinks about the prophecy, can see it as being about his friends, but also knows that he heard a couple Nostrodamus quatrains he thought was about his cousin Ty too.

Wes doesn't look at him, finds the page he was searching for and holds his hand up to silence Gunn. "Could be, I am leaning towards thinking it is, listen to this one: 'And a Warrior shall arise who was foreseen by the Lrtral and the Pythoness, and his arising foreshadows an apocalypse. When his days are still few, Hell shall reign amongst the breathers of air and eaters of meat, and this Warrior, the drinker of air-breathers who is yet alike unto them, will gain his final reward for sacrificing his needs for the needs of others'"

He's not an expert on all this seein' the future business, but that verse was as clear as day to him. "That's about Angel."

Wesley closes the book and looks him in the eye. "I don't think so."

"The Warrior, that's Angel." Gunn's fingers start to tingle, like he's inhaled too much ozone, he's getting wired and freaked.

"In the scrolls of Aberjian, yes. That's not what this is." Wes sees the fear on Gunn, knows the man doesn't like the overtly arcane parts of this job, that he thinks the future's God's territory, and they shouldn't be messing around with it. Reaches his left hand out and rests it on Gunn's knee.

Gunn tries to keep his voice even, shoots for flippant, comes out peevish. "It says final reward."

"Indeed it does." Wesley sighs, squeezes Gunn's thigh and for the thousandth time wishes Charles' life had been different, less complex, that he could have been safe from prophecies with obtuse meanings that could mean the demise of them and everyone they love. Rakes a hand through his hair.

"Why do you think that's not about Angel?" Gunn laughs at the cockatiel effect on the top of Wes's head, pats it down himself and gets a quirked smile for his effort.

"There was no apocalypse around the time of Angel's birth or his turning. I don't really know what to do. It could be that one prophecy is about Angel, another about Xander, they weren't too specific with pronouns or references. I have no idea what pertains to whom." Exasperated and scared, Wes clutches harder on Gunn's thigh, turns his body to face his friend, hopes there might be a spark of brilliance from the other, some insight he's missed. "I mean, I have no idea why some volumes talk about the vampire with a soul in a singular manner and others in the plural."

"Oh shit. So, you sayin' that Junior's a player in some of these books and in others he's not? These books have him, and in others he's missing?" No insight there, just a full body tense and a collapse back on the sofa. Wes follows, resting his head next to Gunn's and sighing in unison with him.

"Precisely." Gunn's arm finds a home behind Wes' head, and their sides connect.

"Do you think that means somethin'?" Fingers stroking the side of his neck, and a breath on the other side.

"Most definitely." Lips following the breath, and Wes bends to the side to accommodate them, wraps a hand on the back of Gunn's slick scalp.

"What?" Wes pops his eyes open and sees the hopeful look on Gunn's face. He wants answers and then a ceasing of the talking for the night.

"If I knew that, I would be over at the Hyperion right now telling Angel and Xander." He's slightly annoyed, wants to drop into oblivion with his favorite partner, but his mind won't shut off like that. Not tonight, not ever really.

Gunn feels the tension, wants to ease it, always wants to ease it. "You wouldn't tell me first?"

"If you asked nicely and seemed at all interested." A grin and swift lick at the full bottom lip so close to his own. Gunn draws back suddenly though, slouches against the couch, because he can't go further than that until he knows what's the what here, one kiss always means clothes ripped off and sweat and writhing, and he can resist for the home team.

"How much more interested can I be? What's up with vision? You think the PTBs were trying to tell us something?"

"That's what I'm frightened of, yes." Wes slides to his feet, walks back to the desk and the stacks of books.

"You scared? Nah. Is it bad enough I need to get scared?" Laughs at the idea of Wesley scared, really scared, but cuts it off abruptly when he imagines something *actually* terrible enough for that.

"Possibly. I have no idea what the PTBs were on about in that vision, if Xander was supposed to be saved or not saved, but I am certain that if *I* have gleaned his existence and nonexistence in various prophecies, then our chums at Wolfram and Hart know about these discrepancies as well."

"You mean they knew about Xander before he died?" And isn't that a kick in the ass, a whole new set of wrinkles to their lives?

"I think that's a distinct possibility."

"English, could you commit to something?" Temper kicking in from the idea of those goddamned lawyers setting this all in motion, and it might only be a maybe, but it makes him mad enough that he regrets never killing one of them.

"I wasn't aware that we were having that conversation..." Doesn't turn around, knows Gunn's about to have a slight tantrum and does his best to stop it before it's fully born.

"Don't make me get my lazy ass up and come over to smack you up-side the head." Irritation there but fading, much to Wesley's relief, enough stress without having to add an unnecessary spat to the list of things that are bothering him.

"I wish you would get your lazy ass up and get me a cup of tea." Closes all the books that are open across the expanse of the desk, stacks them up needlessly while he tries to hide the smile that wants to come over his mouth.

"Ass pansy." That comment intoned directly into his ear, accompanied by a puff of warm breath.

Wes doesn't turn around yet. Says, "Girlie runner," in his most arrogant tone and then ruins the effect by facing Gunn with a grin that shows most of his teeth. Hasn't smiled in so long that the muscles ache from disuse, and that's as sad as anything he can think of at the moment.

Gunn echoes back the smile, then sighs and turns grim. Puts his hand over Wes's where it lies on the stack of books, fingers twining together. "So, is Junior comin' straight out of hell or what?"

"I don't *know*, Charles, that's what I'm attempting to tell you." Wesley allows Gunn to turn him, tugging their clasped hands and leading Wes away from the desk, towards the hallway.

"What about the Shanshuing business?" Gunn walking backwards as he talks, familiar with the path, eight steps down the hall to the creaky floorboard, three more beyond that lies the doorway to the bedroom.

"Well, how lovely you brought that up, that's another issue I am concerned about..." Wesley uses his free hand to remove his glasses, lets them dangle from his fingers, lets the background go soft-focus so he can concentrate on nothing more than the liquid eyes and full mouth right in front of him.

"I'll be god damned. You fucked that one up, huh?" Even in the dim room, Gunn's smile is bright. It disappears as he drops their joined hands and strips off his t-shirt, drops to the bed.

"I'd like to see you translate two thousand year old dead languages." Wes grumbles as he sets the glasses on the dresser, pushes the buttons on his shirt out of their holes.

"I didn't go to college for twenty years, but if I did, I woulda gotten it right the first time. Cordelia told me about the dying thing." Gunn gets impatient, decides to hurry things along by popping the snap on his jeans, pulling down the zipper just enough to show some extra skin, catch Wesley's attention a little tighter so that he'll stop worrying at the mess he's found and allow them both to forget for an hour or so.

"I'm sure she relished the opportunity." Shirt finally off, and Gunn tugs him down to the bed, lets him lie back for a few minutes. He wants to put it all aside, but his anxiety is just too high, and it's written all over his posture, his expression.

Gunn stops his full-on press, rolls to his side and props his head in his hand. "She did seem to be showin' a lot of teeth."

Wes can picture it, too, that smile of Cordelia's wide enough to wrap all the way around, meet in the back and let the top half of her head tumble off. "Like a barracuda."

"But, he isn't in the Scroll, right? Junior isn't in there, is he?" Not really asking to hear any answer other than a resounding 'no', so when Wes hesitates, Gunn sits straight up on the bed.

"Uh..." Wesley looks sheepish, sits up beside him and sighs.

Gunn puts a hand on the back of his neck, pushes him to his feet. "Get the book. Read it to me."

Book unnecessary, Wesley's notes contain the full translation of the prophecies he's discovered in his latest frenzy of cross-referencing. He grabs the sheaf of papers from the desk and trots back down the hall to the bedroom. Takes up his glasses as he walks past the dresser, motions to Gunn for him to flip on the bedside lamp. Begins reading as the light throws a shadow across Gunn's eyes.

"'And the Other shall arise who will be either the gateway to shanshu or the path to his nature. This one shall be touched by the Forces and of one substance with the warrior. The One who is touched shall presage the coming apocalypse, and he shall be the saviour when it dawns. He will be both doom and hope, and his path will be the path of the Many, as well as the One. '"

"Sounds like that other one." Said almost under his breath, and sometimes Wes wishes Gunn wasn't quite so quick.

"I noticed that myself." Wesley looks up as he shuffles the notes, pulls another paper to the top of the pile and tries to read Gunn's expression. Can't because of the position he's taken, and so he waits to see if this is going to end here or if they're going back to the discussion.

Gunn is silent for a few moments, puzzling out what he can before he asks, "What's 'the Many and the One' business?"

Wesley sits beside him again as he answers. "I'm not sure exactly what it means, but 'the many' usually refers to humanity, it's poetic, and as for 'the One', it's set out, like capitols in English, I would assume if the Warrior is Xander, the One is probably Angel, and I don't want to tell you exactly how troublesome that is."

"You don't have to." Gunn takes the papers from Wes's hands, leans over the edge of the bed and deposits them on the floor. Sits back up and raises an eyebrow.

"Right." Wes falls back on the bed, slips his fingers up beneath the glasses and rubs his eyes. Gunn reaches out and plucks the wire rims from his face deftly, gently folds the arms and deposits them on top of the yellow lined paper covered with the black ink, scrawlings of doom and destruction.

"Right," he says, as he rolls over to cover Wes's torso with his own, long fingers carding through silky dark hair. Lets his mouth brush over the one below him once, twice, then pauses and pulls back. "You gonna tell him?"

"You wouldn't want to do it for me?" A little breathlessness in that question, a small buck of his hips that he can't quite help making, and Wes picks his head up to lick at Gunn's bottom lip.

"Hell no, I ain't even gonna be the one to tell Angel that the warrior who shanshus might be Xander and not him, but I could tell Xander about the apocalypse diversion he might do." Response murmured against Wesley's mouth, and the discussion is forgotten for the time being as more urgent matters are at hand.


End file.
